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Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10

Butterknife Haematoma


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This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

A butter knife would have to do. Obviously this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but since no better tool could be found, it would have to suffice. I had searched the basement for a better tool for the job, literally hours worth of rummaging through boxes of shit, but the only object I could find that might serve my purpose was a goddamn butter knife. Well, with a little imagination, I figured that I could manage it. I glanced around, expecting another few hours of searching, and was surprised to see a small pile of bricks beside the furnace. I figured I could safely assume that it was a sign. Which was true, since there was nobody to argue the point with me. I took two of the bricks and placed them on the bare wooden table, still pondering the effectiveness of my quick planning. I could see no reason why this wouldn’t work.


I thought about a note for a moment, then decided against it. Who the hell really cares anyway?  Everybody around me cares only about themselves. When you sacrifice a large piece of your life for the well-being of others, only to be treated like shit in return, this fact becomes painfully obvious. Add the daily feelings of hopelessness, loneliness, and misery, and life feels like nothing but an exercise in futility. Staring too much into the events of society, and I can’t do this without disastrous consequences. In the end, I see the bloody, perverted, dark, greedy, gluttonous depths of what we call the human soul, and this often leaves me scarred internally. It is simply impossible to look into the darkness of the world and not go through changes. Attempting to find logic in the illogical, some method in the madness, a pin-point of light in the darkness. Too many dark questions, and absolutely no answers. A truly hateful dilemma. One I will soon correct.


I aligned the two bricks on the wooden table, with the butter knife wedged between them. I stood for a brief moment, staring at the dull knife jutting from the bricks, then smashed my face against…


He was found on the basement floor, the handle of a butter knife protruding from his left eye. The coroner found that the 22cm butter knife had extended through the medial left orbital roof and crossed the midline of his brain to the right. This, in turn, caused a large right intracerebral haematoma that compressed the right internal capsule. Although it was an obvious suicide, the coroner could only conclude that death had been slow. It was impossible to tell if it had been painful.


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