Once I was ten years old...

[Dannyrulx*]

She whistled, her first set of proper cookery knives lying sharpened and polished in front of her. He had looked at each one in detail, carefully examining them, the artwork on the metal handles, the, well, everything! It was soo cool! She had her own blades! And, it was perfect, as tonight was spaghetti night! She kept on whistling, picking up carrots, a tin of tomatos, basil and more, assembling the ingredients in the order she was gonna use them, and set to work.

She splashed some water on her face, the boiling heat of the enclosed kitchen getting to her, and she opened the door to the outside. The end of a coyote howl could be distantly heard, and she breathed in deeply. Time to cut the carrots and the herbs, and she's be set.  Walking back inside, she picked up the peeler, stripping thr carrot of of it's 'skin,' and moving on. She lines them up, and started chopping.

She liked the onomatopoeia of the cutting, the steady, muffled 'thump' as the knife hit the cutting board below. It was almost hypnotic in a way. Thump, thump, thump, thump. She picked up the next carrot. Thump, thump, thu-.

She screamed. The knife was covered in blood, the tip of her index finger the epicentre of the rapidly expanding puddle, and she screamed again. Her father ran in, his face a mask of first worry, then surprise, then fear. He ran up to her and looked at the end of her finger, before running to the first-aid kit in the car. When he returned, Maria was not-so quietly crying in pain, unable to quite believe that it was gone.

(So there we have it! The tale of how a ten year old lost the tip of her left index! Isn't that delightful?)