Deep Inner Pain

Blood is running down my arm as tears mirror the path down my cheeks. Crimson pools form in the cookie batter as I look down at the box of plastic wrap, which is sitting innocently on the counter. My eyes narrow as I see the printing, a blasphemy against all that is true and good. I raise my voice as only those truly wronged can do: " 'New! Safety Cutting Blade', my ass!" I cry as I throw the Saran wrap box across the room. An arc of my blood spattering the floor. The cookies may be a while longer