Performance Art

Author’s Note: It is the third week, third day of the Crossroads Writing Project, and this is today’s SWP. The prompt was a picture by Van Asomebody called “The Seventh Chair” with the subheading “The fifth one ended up in Paris” or some such thing. I’ll have to get the exact details later. I think this would be better as an audio rather than a written text, but here it is in written form anyway…

The Pain

The sharp point entered my skin

The pain came a second later

And I gasped as it registered

Another second and the blood flowed

Three seconds, almost instantaneous

But to me, the one stabbed

Time slowed and I knew each moment

As it seared itself into my memory

Stabbed, wounded, I ached

I stared at the wound

Is there a doctor in the house

I wondered

There was no doctor or mother

To comfort and treat me

And so I did the next best thing

For me

I placed my finger in my mouth

Threw the stupid stabbing staple away

And there next to the trash can I vowed

Next time I’m sticking to 3-hole punches

Author’s note continued: Did I forget to mention that right before getting the writing prompt, I stabbed my finger with an errant staple?