Almost worse than a papercut

“I cut myself.”

She tutted, holding her hand out. Her friend placed her own hand there, letting her examine the long narrow sliver of red stretched from one end of her palm down to her wrist. “How did you do this?”


“Opening it with a knife-”

“No. Just the cardboard.”

She gave her friend a look. The other woman shrugged. She sighed. “Wash up. I’ll get a bandage.”


It is a strange problem to have, accidentally running the razor over the back of a nail.

She wasn’t sure how she accomplished it, where the razor nicked two oddly shaped grooves into the back of the nail of her pointer finger. If it weren’t for the feeling of it catching that hardness for a split second, it would have been impossible to notice. Only knowledge of the moment made her remember, running her thumb over the marks, bothering to be on her mind.

Only close inspection would show the scratches. One was longer than the other, but both followed the same path. An interesting mark that wouldn’t last very long, eventually growing out, eventually being cut off.

If only she could remember how she did it, to keep from doing it in the future.