The memory of the pain is as fresh as the physical pain. I'm not feeling it anymore, but I'm still feeling the memory of it as fresh as frustration. It's overpowering everything else. I'm looking ahead. And I'm looking at this guy who seems to be seeing nothing more than what's in front of him. There's a certain amount of disgust for him within me. I feel this disgust even though I know that he's not what caused me to feel the pain that I feel now even though the disgust I feel is a product of the pain.

The anger spills out towards the one in front of me because it can only move forward. I'm looking at this large knife in my hand. It looks familiar. I know I'm probably going to be doing something that I'm going to regret right now because I know I have before. I know that I'm probably going to be doing something that's not at all pleasant with the knife because I know I have before. It's not like the guy in front of me has it coming or anything like that. I know that my disgust towards him probably has nothing to do with him.

My disgust comes from an injury sustained a few minutes or a few hours or a few days ago. But I'm going to lash out at the one in front of me. I'm going to do this even though I know it's wrong. I'm going to do this even though I know that there are a lot of people capable of seeing what I'm doing. They would judge me for doing what I'm going to do. They would think me a monster. That doesn't change the fact that I am going to do what I'm going to do. It doesn't even really change how I feel about what I'm going to do.

And when I feel the force of the blade thrusting in my hand it feels like I am being active. And when I feel the blade shoving against the resistance of the body of the man in front of me, there's pain that slices into my back. It's a very familiar pain. I feel myself getting that much more dizzy. For a few fractions of a second I see the others. They're all paying way too much attention to what's right in front of them to notice what just happened. They're s;; paying far too much attention to what's right in front of them to see what I just did. There's paying far too much attention to what's right in front of them to see what just happened to me.

I feel the pain in the left side of my back at the same time that I feel the blade sink into the left side of the back of the one in front of me. The pain is not exactly unbearable. The pain is not exactly something that I'm paying all that much attention to as I am paying way more attention to what's in front of me as I pull out the blade. I feel the pain die down. It subsides. There is a sensation of blood trickling down my back. I look at the blade that is held in my hand. I see that it is covered with the blood of the one in front of me. I examine the blade.

The blood on the blade looks familiar the way all blood does. It's always there even though you're not always really paying attention to it. But you know it's there. You know that it will be there. You know that there's something strange about this moment. And for some reason I find myself licking the blood off the blade of the knife. I feel the sensation of it coming through me. It fills me the way it normally shouldn't. It feels a lot more substantial than mere liquid. It feels a lot more substantial than just blood. There is a deep nourishment there. Far deeper than any liquid could possibly be. So it doesn't really make any sense. But I'm willing to accept it.

The blade is clean and I feel the hunger of the nourishment coursing through me as it trickles down my back. It feels like there's no stomach. It feels like the blood is going straight to the wound in my back. It feels like it's meant to be there in much the same way that it feels like I'm meant to be here. In much the same way that it feels like the knife is meant to be in my hand. In much the same way it feels like there is someone who needs to be watching me as I do what I do. In much the same way as it feels like there needs to be someone to do what I need to do to someone. It all fits into place perfectly.

It's one of those moments where I'm looking around and I'm seeing the line ahead of me. The one in front of me holds a knife to the back of the one in front of him who holds a knife to the back of the one in front of him just as the one holding a knife to my back has a knife to his back being held by the one behind him who also has a knife to his back. For the briefest instant I notice that we don't just all look alike. For the briefest fraction of a second I notice that we're all the same person. It's a realization that burns so much as to cause me to completely forget whatever it was that just burned a hole in my memory.

The only thing that I seem to remember is something coming from somewhere else. Didn't notice it before because I was too busy paying attention to what was in front of me. All that's left is the memory of the pain. The memory of the pain is as fresh as the pain. I'm not feeling the pain anymore, but I'm still feeling the memory of it as fresh as frustration. It's overpowering everything else. I'm looking ahead. And I'm looking at this guy who seems to be seeing nothing more than what's in front of him. There's a certain amount of disgust for him within me. I feel this disgust even though I know that he's not what caused me to feel the pain that I feel now. And even though the disgust I feel is a product of the pain.