I am sick. My vision is blurred and I feel woozy. The witch I call mother is drawing nearer, but this time she brings with her the knife of conviction. Quickly she grabs my hand and slits my wrist. She then begins to laugh histerically and her evil smile and evil eyes angered me. I try to stop the bleeding but her strong hands bound me to the rough and dirty floors. Blood pours out of my wrist like a severed pipe, but the blood is not red but black. Not only is the blood black, it also smells like a corpse left out in the midday sun. Suddenly, the blood stop flowing and the wound rapidly heal.
My vision is clear and I am no longer intoxicated by the naivity of youth. I can now see the things that I could not see as a child. The blindness of my youth departs from me, for the painful cut to my wrist purifies me of the youthful poison. The evil witch I call mother isn't evil at all. Her words of hate weren't words of hate but of wisdom, love and guidance, which cut through my stubborness like a knife. This knife was not the knife of death but of transition and self awareness. Tough love hurts at times but it is the only love that can free us from our lack of understanding. May the one who created all things well bless the holder of the knife which bring forth wisdom,love and guidance with her slashes.