A description of the murder weapon
Oct. 7th - Describe, in detail, an object that is critical to your story
With one swift forward thrust the job was done. Emma watched in fascination as it swooped down and chopped off the head of their soon-to-be dinner. She observed how the sun glinted along the razor sharp edge, as it swooshed through the chicken’s neck—severing it’s head from it’s still twitching body. Abby dropped the head in a slop bucket on the floor and holding the dripping carcass above the bucket, carried it to the sink room. But not before filling the room with a smell that left a metallic taste in the back of her throat…
Emma’s nostrils flared as she took in great gulps of the scent and smiled. She had forgotten how much she liked that smell. She turned so she could see her stepmother, busily plucking feathers from the chicken as she held it up, allowing the blood to drain. The irony of the scene was not lost on Emma, but her eyes wandered back to the utensil on the cutting board.
She had never paid much attention to the kitchen or the cooking duties. But for some reason—it was as if something had called to her—lured her into the uncomfortably hot room, just at the precise moment.
She realized at once how perfect it was—a good size—sturdy enough for the job(s) at hand—but easy to maneuver—not at all heavy or awkward. And it was sharp—quite sharp.
Of course the best part was how handy it was. It was so accessible, convenient and ready at a moment’s notice.
And it was so innocuous—hanging there on its hook in the kitchen. Yes, she had discovered her weapon of choice—the meat cleaver!