I was feeling too rushed, too frantic, to pay any mind to the razor at the back of my makeup drawer.
I always thought I was smart, but I guess the blade was smarter, & instantaneously the blood started to gush from my middle finger.
Under pressure, it did not stop; little spots of blood leaked through the poor excuse of a cover-up called a bandage & the annoying, throbbing pain stayed with me for over 24 hours.
It wasn’t until I dipped the digit into a solution of salt water that the bleeding ceased.
But the process took many tries, and I wondered how such a small cut could be so damn persistent & hurt so damn much.
Why did it have to be exposed & put through pain in order to heal?
Yet, this is not where my story ends:
Just when I thought all was well, of course, I get an infection…
Now the healing process has become more tedious & I am poking & prodding at different areas in hopes that this little disease to go away.
F*ck you, razor, for meeting my flesh when I least expected it, when I least needed it.
It is quite possible, however, that my misfortune was a consequence born of carelessness.