[ CW ] write a story from the point of view of a serial killers favorite knife .

They say he's horrific. He's a monster, a killer. A deranged lunatic who fell into the abyss. They say that he is pure distilled evil. But not me. 
 
 I love him. 
 
 Oh sure, he did all those things the newspapers talk about. Kidnapping, torture, murder, sure. But I do n't care about any of that. I'm just a knife. 
 
 For me, the only thing that matters, the only thing that gives me meaning, the only thing I desire is cutting. 
 
 For me, there is no sensation more savory, more delicious, more erotically thrilling than that first thrust of my blade. Sharpened to a fine edge, effortlessly cutting through the flesh. Mmm, gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. 
 
 Today's Thursday. Sharpening Day. Oh I love the feel of that grit, sensuously grinding away at my blade. That anticipation that soon... soon... I will once again be slicing into something. 
 
 He takes care of me, and I take care of him. We were meant to be. He is my everything. 
 
 But now he's gone. 
 
 They came one night. He was sleeping. I tried to warn him, but it was no good. They took him away in handcuffs, and put me in an evidence bag. I hate this stupid bag. 
 
 I wish I could cut my way out of here.
