Rumble

When you’re taking a knife from the knife block to cut some cheese, do you give it a little spin around your finger?

Do you scan the kitchen from left to right; the spice rack, the fridge, the steamer, the kettle – the whole gang is here – before smiling as you note their positions and calculate the somersault that you will have to perform to take all of them out? The steamer is the fastest, but the fridge has so much bulk and strong metal sides; if it rushes you it can let momentum do the rest of the work while the spice rack and steamer attack yr blindside.

Do you always make those estimates in yr head before grinning like the well-oiled machine that will cut them down like just so much ripe wheat?

They don’t call you The Reaper for nothing, you know?

Of course it never comes to that. The gang and you laugh it off, but there’s a coldness behind their eyes, and all of their banter can never entirely mask the ballet of kitchen violence that could explode at a moments notice.

The cheese whimpers on the chopping board.