[ WP ] Write a murder from the perspective of a cheerful inanimate object

Hi. My name ’ s Chef, and I ’ m a knife. A Wusthof Classic, to be precise. And a good knife is nothing, if not precise. I'm sending this out because someone needs to know how this all happened. 
 
 I ’ ve always been a knife, as far as I can tell, at least. I don ’ t remember being anything before I was a knife. I know all about the process by which a Maker goes about putting knives like me together – I was born with the knowledge of how I was made – precision forged from high-quality steel ( with 0.5 % carbon, 15 % chromium and unspecified but smaller amounts of molybdenum and vanadium ), with a triple riveted polypropylene handle and full-length tang. I ’ m a ten-inch model, made for everyday use by trained Wielders, to cut things like vegetables, meats and suchlike. I ’ ve enjoyed my work in the past, especially my prior Wielder, who was a pretty handy home chef, with some school training. 
 
 He was good, but he fell on hard times, and had to sell me and my brothers, Paring, Boning, Paring Jr. ( we don ’ t know how he got here, but he ’ s an okay dude ) Filet and Bread. He kept Cleaver, who got burrs when he found out he wasn ’ t coming with us. I still feel bad about that. 
 
 Anyway, he sold us for some cash, but also because he had some Japanese guys named Shun, and I gathered from what he told the Wielder to whom he sold us that he “ didn ’ t need two sets ”. Whatever that means. 
 
 So, my current…well, maybe current, maybe former…I don ’ t know…anyway, the Wielder who had me most recently, well he was a loud guy. He was a shitty Wielder too, held me just by the handle, and never covered the hilt like the before Wielder did. He used to make me taste his blood sometimes, too, which felt really…well, odd. I mean, I love the taste of veggies, especially onions, and I ’ m a dab hand with meat, if I do say so, but that first time, I remember he was sitting, and leaking like Faucet does sometimes, from those little round jelly things all the Wielders seem to use a lot. He was sitting on the floor and just kept running me over the outside of his arm. It was kind of fucked up. 
 
 So, how I got here, you ’ re wondering. Yeah, I ’ m getting to that. 
 
 So this one night, it ’ s night, I can tell because we ’ ve all been in this drawer for like, ever. Oh, yeah, that ’ s the other thing – this jackass Wielder keeps us in a DRAWER. Like, who does that? We ’ re all banging up against each other and this guy Roller who ’ s a total dick, and some prancing jackhole, name of Whisk? I don ’ t know – that guy is just weird. Anyway, they ’ re all burring us up which sucks, and this guy doesn ’ t even have Steel or any of his cousins around, so we ’ re all like, ugh, why can ’ t we do our jobs right. 
 
 Anyway, that night, we hear some music playing, and it was like, kinda nice, but weird because it was so late. Anyway, it ’ s this song by an inferior metal, Iron something, goes like da-na-na-na…na…na…na…na-NAAAH na. Kind of cool, but like, a little creepy. There were some bangs and some crashes, and a noise kind of like happens when you stick me in one of those ASSHOLE Sharpeners – those guys always fuck me up – but it was like, more organic? Like if a steak could make a noise like that, that ’ s what it sounded like. I think…they call it a “ scream ”? Anyway, first I ’ d heard one. 
 
 So then, all of a sudden a million things all happen at once, the drawer is like, ripped open, someone – I couldn ’ t tell if it was the Wielder or a Usurper – grabs me and starts flailing me around! Then I think I tasted the Wielder, maybe, it was really fast, and another one of those Sharpener noises – the scream, right – happens, then I think the Wielder grabbed me, and next thing I know, the lights go out, and I ’ m drinking. And drinking. And what the hell, I ’ m like covered in the stuff! And I realize I ’ m drinking either the Wielder or the Usurper. GROSS. I kind of blacked out after that, but I think I heard a door slam. 
 
 Anyway, I ’ ve been in this fucking plastic bag inside this fucking box on top of this fucking shelf for like, ever. I hope someone gets this, because I ’ m starting to feel like I might never get out of here. 
 
 Fuck. 

