The knife was sharp, the movement relatively quick. There was efficiency in it. Frank stared into the middle distance, breathing through the pain of it. At least it was a short word. Four little letters.

He made the mistake of looking down. Blood was flowing freely, the letters hidden in the curtain of it. His breath stuttered vaguely, as he tore his eyes away. Back to the middle distance, back to focusing outside of the sharp, burning pain.