First week of writing challenges.

So here's a semi-freewrite. It doesn't make much sense.

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I got my first knife when I was thirteen. Found her in daddy’s drawer, picked it up and it immediately fit in my hand, cool and small and wickedly sharp. I call her Maude, like Mod, cause she’s all metal with a curved blade with all designs. The internet says she’s Damascus steel which is why it’s so sharp to make Damascus steel they take steel and fold it hammer it and heat it then fold it and fold it until the different pieces of metal are all intertwined and swirly in the blade and it’s like ten times stronger than just regular steel but Maude isn’t made for cutting people. Maude is made for opening things like boxes and cutting rope and strings and ties and plastics, the guy at the flea market said Maude’s for U-til-I-ty. so I bought Hissatsu.

Hissatsu is more for cutting people, he said, he’s long and thin and straight and designed to go between ribs without any problem which is confusing cause he doesn’t cut boxes or paper or plastic or rope very well. He’s not so sharp on the edge, I tested, and he’s not good for cutting robe but Hissatsu is really heavy, so heavy I can rest him in the palm of my hand and if I squeeze my eyes shut enough he’s the same weight as daddy’s baseball that we used to throw to each other on bright sunny days with sunscreen on our noses.

But if I wanted to I could hurt someone pretty bad without actually having to take Hissatsu’s blade out cause he’s so heavy and I could just punch. But if I did take him out I can slash with him and take the hair off your arm or just thrust him into someone’s gut and he’ll go right in as if you were made of warm butter.

Like the small little squirrel that had been hit by a truck and was laying all shaky and bloody and quivering and grimy with two or three broken legs. Me and my dad were walking to the store and he kneeled down and prodded it with the toe of his boots and it kept twitching and twitching and twitching and it’s little paws stretched and stretched and stretched and wouldn’t stop and Dad looked at me and said “pull out your little Hissatsu folder I’m gonna show you something” and he held his big old soft hand out and I pulled it out of my pocket and put it in the hand. He said “No” and took my hand in his and his was so much bigger and put the Hissatsu right in my palm and closed my fingers around it “sometimes you have to show mercy.” And he grabbed my hand and thrust the edge of Hissatsu into the little squirrel and the paws stretched with its little claws and the dirt stuck under them and it was as if it wasn’t there.

Hissatsu hit the dirt, crunched, I jerked back, dad caught me and the squirrel slipped off Hissatsu with a squelch and glopped into the dirt, making mud.