Put it down, I thought. Just put it down. Put it down. Put it down. The words were a chant in my head, an ineffectual spell meant to save my life. Put it down. Put it down. Put it down.
The knife came up. The knife came down. The knife pulled out, up, down. Out, up, down. I said put it down, not this. My knees weakened and I went down. The knife went with me and we both went down. Even as I fell, I was careful not to fall on it and push it in deeper. My hip went down. My shoulder went down. My head went down. My spell changed to Help. Help. Help.
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