Shunned

The blade sliced through everything it touched. 
He was under pressure, fresh out of culinary school. Tattoos sleeving his arms: the obligatory cheese wedge, a forgotten name, and B-U-R-N and B-A-B-Y inked into his knuckles. A restaurant opening was imminent — too soon. But when he gripped the maple handle of the chef’s knife he found at an estate sale, he heard voices. They spoke to him as he chopped, vibrating at a frequency beyond others. Everything else seemed out of tune. Soulful. Sinful. His fingers brushed an onion—the knife—too close. It sliced through everything, just as it had countless times before. 
Everything. 
Even bone.

J.T. Trigonis​