The Kitchen

I knew when I waked in the door that the kitchen was a dangerous place. Dark and filled with metal, I was chilled to the bone.
It was once a place of warmth and invitation. Home cooked meals and laughter once filled the air. A folded apron sat on a chair...discarded and abandoned.
My mother carved the turkey like a professional. Each slice was deliberate and smooth.
I hid the knives in the trunk of her car. So strong was my urge. I cannot enter the kitchen so I watch its emptiness from afar.
If I step into that kitchen I will slice my wrists...so deliberate, so smooth. Blood will flow to the floor like the juices from a freshly cut roast.
Mhmmm, losing consciousness and falling to the ground I can't help but think that I will miss you all. Feeling the cool tiles against my face, I realize that this is it...