The Life of a Knife

The Only Part (lol)

This knife was born in a factory in late 2006. It was made to be an average kitchen knife, but it was special. The man running the factory that day (it only took one man as it was quite small) had just lost his child. She had gone missing the day before and still had not been found. The only thing he wished was for there to be something to guide her home. Something to save her from her abductor's clutches. Something that would bring her back to the most important person in her life: her father. He wondered what could possibly have taken place. Had he not gone to buy her an ice cream at the park they were walking in, leaving her alone sitting on a bench, would she be safe at home right now? Surely a few spilled tears over her not getting the ice cream she so wanted would be worth her safety, right? But how could he have known? He just wanted to make his daughter happy. His wife had died in an accident a few years ago, a jarring incident. After that day, when the news came through, about someone who simply could not bring himself to stop at that red sign and had passed it, zooming through, stealing a life and sealing his fate of misfortune, he just wished to see his daughter's smile at every moment possible. What had he done? This was the top question in his mind at all times. The loss of the woman whom he believed to be his soul mate was simply something he could not bear. They had great plans: take holidays every year, have at least four children (they were the type of people who loved children) and spoil them rotten, give them discipline, but give them love, in perfect harmony. But this was just too much...not her...not again...

He was a good man. He went to church every Sunday. When there was something wrong in his community, whether they needed money for a new construction project or there was an event at his daughter's school, he would help. Diligently, exactly as he was told. But even then...was it already too late? Had his fate truly already been sealed? What had he done? What was this a punishment for? That was all he wanted to know. Even if they never found who murdered his wife with their negligence. Even if his daughter never returned. Or if they found her, dead, in a ditch somewhere. It was his one wish. He thought that if he knew what he had done wrong, it could be fixed. It was enough payment for his hardships to know what had caused them, like if the police finally found a serial murderer after several years. It would allow the victims to rest in peace, and for the families to find tranquillity in their hearts once again.

So he would keep wondering:

What had he done?

***

That man made a wish holding one of the knives he was producing, a finished piece. He wished:

'Please, I'm begging you. Bring my daughter back to me. Bring her safe and sound. Please.'

He said this in his head, to nobody in particular. But the knife heard. It awoke and it listened. It listened right down to its non-existent heart.

It said in its head, 'I will grant your wish, no matter what it costs. From man to man, it is a promise!'

Of course the knife had no vocal chords, it was more of a declaration to himself. He could see and hear, but he could not taste, smell, or most importantly, touch.

The man felt a warmth grow in him. 'Maybe it will go right this time,' he thought.

He put the knife down with the other completed pieces, then halted the machine and continued on to packaging the knives, having completely lost sight of the one who witnessed his wish.

The knife was slotted into a wooden holder with several other knives, packaged with bubble wrap into a cardboard box, then sealed with cellophane.

It was dark. It was crowded. It was suffocating.

Good thing knives don't breathe.

He was sold with his counterparts in a store to a family that had just moved into the neighbourhood.