Whittle

             A man walks outside of his home, ready to face the new day.  As he walks to his car, the sun beating heavily on his skin, he sends a cheery wave and a friendly ‘good-morning’ towards his neighbor, an elderly lady with wrinkled pale skin.  The man’s neighbor, currently bent over her prized tulips, looked up at the man’s greeting but said nothing.  She simply stared; her eyes slightly narrowed.  The man just chuckled good-naturedly and got in his car.  As he drove away, still conscious of the judging gaze that followed him down the street, a thin trickle of blood that dripped down his face from a small cut just above his cheek.

-Erode-

             Erosion: the gradual destruction or diminution of something.  Most forms of erosion are performed by wind, water, or ice as a surface is continuously battered by the elements, slowly being warped away from its previous shape.  The process can take decades if not centuries.

-Erode-

             After clocking in for the day, the man stepped out onto the grocery store floor.  There wasn’t many customer walking around, but the man did notice an elderly lady pursuing one of the isles, appearing confused.  Straightening his dark red polo shirt, making sure that the store’s logo was visible over his heart, he walked towards the woman.

            “Can I help you, Ma’am?” the man asked upon seeing a fairly elderly woman, one who was absolutely caked in make-up, perusing the store’s soup section.

             The woman turned; her eyes widening.  A frightened yelp tried to make its way out of the woman’s throat upon seeing the man’s face but was stopped by the clenching of her teeth and the sealing of her cosmetic coated lips.  Pale hands unconsciously fell to her purse; her fingers digging into its faux leather.  The fearful look in her eyes didn’t fade until she saw the company logo on my chest.

             “O-Oh!” she gasped, her body posture relaxing minutely.  “S-Sorry.  You st-startled me.”

             “It’s fine,” the man said good-naturedly.  “I apologize for startling you.  Was there anything I could help you find?”

             “N-No.  That won’t be necessary,” the woman said with a nervous smile.

             “Alright.  Have a nice rest of your day,” the man said with a smile.  With that, he walked away, conscious of the eyes glued to his back.  He made it out of the isle before he stumbled.

             The man panted ever so slightly.  His vision blurred for a second, forcing the man to reach out and grasp the wall to balance himself.  The moment only lasted a second before the man shook his head and straightened himself once more; his vision returning.  With a sigh, the man continued on his way, trying his best to ignore the various cuts that now lined up his left leg.  He couldn’t let a few small cuts get to him.

-Carve-

            Carpentry and masonry.  Common practices that seem simple on paper, yet incredibly precise and difficult.  Crafting something out of wood and brick; shaping something out of something else, it sounds so simple, but even the smallest mistake can cause disastrous consequences.  One to many cuts, can leave the leg of a table unstable and weak.  One misshapen brick can leave a foundation uneven.  One crack, can lead to the entire project failing.

-Carve-

             There was a child standing alone in one of the aisles.  A small girl with a frilly and sparkly pink skirt, a matching top, blonde pigtails, and fat tears streaming down their rosy cheeks.  Understandably concerned, the man moved to help.

             “Hello?  Are you alright?” he asked, approaching cautiously as to not startle the child.

             The little girl looked up at the man, cautious, red-rimmed eyes watching him.  She continued to silently weep but made no move to run away.  Taking this as a good sign, the man continued forward, coming to a kneel before the child.

             “Are you alright?” he repeated.  “Are you lost?”

             After several seconds, the little girl nodded, her cautious look melting into one of desperate hope.  Smiling softly at the girl, the man reaches out a hand, intending on taking the child to the service booth in order to call the child’s parent over the intercom, when a shout came from behind him.

             “Rachel?!”

             The man turned around at the same moment the little girl shouted ‘Mommy!’.  The child rushed past the man, impacting against the pant legs of a rather severe looking woman with matching hair color.  Garbed in a freshly pressed suit, the woman dropped down to embrace the girl, who was undoubtedly her daughter.

             “Are you alright, Sweetie?” the woman asked.  “Are you hurt?”

             The girl shook her head, but kept her face buried in her mother’s chest.  The man smiled, glad that everything had worked out.  However, this feeling was quickly dispersed when the woman turned to him and glared hatefully.

             “What did you do?!”

             “Pardon?” the man asked, caught off guard.

              “What did you do to my daughter?” the woman demanded, rising to her full height, her child in her arms.  Her fair cheeks gained an ugly flush.  “I saw you trying to grab her!”

             “Ma’am, I came upon your daughter standing in the middle of the aisle crying.  I was attempting to see if she needed any help,” the man explained calmly as he stood up.

             “Bullshit!” the woman snapped.  She turned to her child, her voice suddenly becoming sweet and loving.  “Did he try and hurt you, Sweetie?” 

             “Ma’am, I did not hurt—” The woman’s harsh glare cut off the man’s attempt at an explanation.

             “You stay the hell away from us!” the woman snapped, taking a step back.  “Come any closer and I’ll scream!”

             The man raised his hands placatingly, not wishing to exacerbate the situation.  “Ma’am, I am simply trying to explain—”

             “I’ll call the police!” the woman shouted, causing the man to immediately shut his mouth.  The two of the stared at one another for several moments, the man with restrained frustration and the woman with unabated hate.  The little girl just kept her head tucked into her mother’s neck.  Eventually, the man sighed and backed away.

             “I apologize for upsetting you or your daughter.  It was not my intention,” he said.

             The woman just sneered.  She turned away and stalked down the aisle, muttering something about people trying to take advantage of the more fortunate as she went.  As she rounded the corner, the man allowed himself to wince from the numerous cuts that now littered his back.

-Debilitate-

            The term ‘venomous’ refers animals that possess the ability to inject venom by means of a bite or sting.  Animals such as snakes and even spiders use this ability to disable and weaken their prey with a single bite.  In some cases, an animal’s venom is so potent that even the smallest scratch of the animal’s fangs or stinger can subdue, if not outright kill, an animal many times their size.

-Debilitate-

             The man sighed in relief as the clock finally struck 5.  After a long and painful day, which was only worsened by the awkward conversation he had with his boss over ‘harassing’ a customer and her child, the man was ready to go home.

             Having just clocked out, the man tried not to sag as he walked towards the exit.  Off to the side, the man noticed the severe woman from earlier appearing to be graciously thanking one of his coworkers for finding her daughter who, yet again, wandered off.  The employee, a young man, flushed almost as brightly as his hair, explaining that there was no need for thanks.

            The man just looked away and stepped out of the store and into the fresh air, blatantly ignoring the sting of his cuts.  Walking to his car, the man did his best not to stumble, aware of the various looks that were following him as he went.  As he reached his car, a voice spoke out.

            “What’re you doin’ there, boy?”

            The man turned, coming face to face with a red-faced man with a thick, orange beard.  “Pardon?”

            The bearded man sneered.  He was wearing a stained tank top that showed off his farmer’s tan.  “What’re you doin’ with that car?”

            The man blinked.  “This is my car.”

            The bearded man scoffed as if what the other had said was nothing more than a joke.  He crossed his pale arms across his chest, flexing as he did so in an attempt to look menacing.  “How ‘bout you stop messin’ around and back away from there.”

            The man frowned.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.  This is my car.”

            The man glanced at the car.  It wasn’t a terrible vehicle, but it wasn’t one of the most recent models, but the man took care of it to the point where it looked almost new.  “Yeah, right,” the bearded man laughed condescendingly.

            Tired, and having enough of the conversation, the man simply pulled out his car keys, unlocked it, and calmly opened the driver’s side door.  He then turned to look at the bearded man, withholding a snort at the puckered expression on their face, and stepped into his car.

            Closing, his door, the an allowed himself to sigh, the days trials and stresses washing off of him as he sagged into his chair, wincing as the hot leather stung against the splattering of cuts burning across his skin.

            A loud banging against his window caused the man to jump.  The bearded man was there, slapping his hand against the man’s car window.  He was red faced and angry.  He was saying something, but the man couldn’t hear him.  He was too tired.  He needed to go home. 

            Ignoring the shouting individual outside his door, the man turned on his car.  Taking care not to run over the bearded, who appeared to be trying to open his door, the man pulled out of his parking spot and begun the long journey home, ignoring the enraged shouts that followed him.

-Cut-

            Tetanus, or lockjaw, is an infection causes by bacteria, known as Clostridium tetani, that can invade the body through a small cut or puncture on a person’s body.  These bacteria, once settled within the body, produces toxins that cause painful muscle contractions, often starting with the victim’s jaw.  Other symptoms include muscle spasms, trouble swallowing, headache, fever, seizures, and changes in blood pressure.  If left untreated, this infection can be fatal.

-Cut-

            A shrill siren cut through the haze that was threatening to consume the man’s mind.  Glancing in his rearview mirror, the man saw the telltale blue and red flashing lights following him.  The man frowned.  He hadn’t been speeding, had he?

            Shaking his head, the man pulled to the side of the road and turned off his car, the police car mirroring his actions a moment later.  After several tense seconds, the man heard the telltale crunching of gravel underneath a heavy boot.  There was a tap at his window.

            “Is there a problem, officer?” the man asked, rolling his window down.

            The officer regarded the man behind his sunglasses.  He was tan, but not dark; his hair styled in a typical military cut.  His bushy mustache, which twitched at the slightest movement of the officer’s mouth, almost covered the man’s annoyed scowl.  “Sir, I’m going to need you to step out of your vehicle.”

            “Why?” the man asked, perplexed.  A normal traffic stop wouldn’t require him to exit his car.

            “I need you to exit the vehicle sir,” the officer said more forcefully than before.

            “May I know why?” the man asked, trying to sound polite even as his heart was beginning to pound.  “This is just a traffic stop, isn’t it?”

            The officer stared at the man; their expression unreadable.  “This car was repeated stolen by its owner.”

            The man blinked.  “Pardon?”

            “Please step out of the car sir.  Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be,” the officer said, their voice steadily growing impatient and annoyed.

            “But this is my car,” the man said.

            The officer seemed to sigh as if growing weary of the man’s excuses.  “Sir, if you do not comply…”

            “I’m serious!” the man excalimed, his heart steadily crawling its way into his throat.  “This is my car!  I have proof!”  The man quickly grabbed his papers from his glove box before turning back to the officer, only to freeze.

            The uniformed man had taken a step back from the car’s window; placing one hand on the walkie talkie and the other on his gun.  He didn’t pull it from his holster, but the threat was clear.  Neither man moved; both cautiously observing the other.  Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, the man offered up his forms and license to the officer.

            For one terrifyingly long moment, the officer did not take them.  A heavy silence encircled the duo, seemingly silencing even the rumbling motors of the cars that sped past them.  A cold bead of sweat trailed down the left side of the man’s face; a warm drop of blood mimicking the sweat drop’s path but on the opposite side.

            After what felt like an eternity, the spell was broken and the officer snatched the papers from the man’s outstretched hand.  “Don’t move,” the officer ordered before stomping back to his own vehicle.  If the officer saw the blood trailing down the man’s face, he didn’t comment on it.

            The man released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, slumping bonelessly in his seat.  His heart was beating a mile a minute with no signs of stopping.  All he could do was try and take deep, calming breaths until the officer returned, which didn’t take very long.

            “Everything seems to be in order,” the officer said as he walked up to the man’s car.  The man wasn’t sure, but the officer seemed…disappointed.  The officer thrust the man’s license and registration back into his hand before turning away.  “Have a nice day.”

            “That’s it?” the man asked, unable to keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

            The officer stopped mid-stride.  “What?”

            Mentally kicking himself for speaking, the man fumbled to salvage the situation.  “I-I mean, whoever filed the claim that my car was stolen was lying, so are you going to prosecute them or…”

            “That’s none of your concern,” the officer snapped waspishly, causing the man to flinch.  “Move along.”

            With that, the officer stormed back to his own car, leaving the man alone.  The man sat there, paralyzed for several moments.  Eventually, with almost robotic movements, the man started up his car, slowly got back onto the road, and began making his way back home.  The entire time, the man blatantly ignored to warmth running down his spine as he back bled openly.

-Decay-

             One of the most common diseases a tree can succumb to is trunk decay; an ailment that results from the digestion of wood by fungi or other microbes that have infiltrated a cut, or other injury, upon the tree’s surface.  As a result, a tree experiencing decay will slowly start to wither, leading to a weakened structure, an unsightly appearance, and, eventually, death.  Even the smallest of cuts can be dangerous, especially as there is no cure for decay.

-Decay-

             The joggers stared.  The dog growled.

             Keeping up his smile, the man turned and walked unsteadily towards his house, aware of the gazes pinned to his back, not commenting on the rapidly darkening spot.  He quickly unlocked the door and all but threw himself inside.  He swiftly locked the door and drew his curtain shut.  Only then did he allow himself to collapse.

             He fell to the ground with a muffled thud, gasping in pure agony.  The cuts that littered his burned and throbbed viciously; each one feeling like wasp as repeatedly stinging him.  He forced a fist into his mouth in an attempt to keep his cries muffled.  Tears that had been building behind his eyes all day finally fell, causing the cuts on his face to sting worse than they already did.

             The man wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that; pressed limply against the cold floor, but by the time he opened his eyes, it was dark outside.  Eventually, the man decided he needed to move and dragged himself to his bathroom in order to clean up.  Hoisting himself to his feet by gripping the edges of his sink, coming face to face with the reflection of an incredibly pale man. 

             Glancing down, the man eyed his red shirt, a shade darker than when he first put it on.  Carefully, he peeled it off his skin, hissing in pain as the sodden fabric stuck to his flesh.  Eventually, the garment was removed, revealing the roadmap of cuts, both old and new, that littered almost every inch of his emaciated form. 

             The man stared in morbid fascination; both enthralled and horrified by his tattered body.  Mentally, he traced his various cuts, creating pictures and words like a macabre connect-the-dot game. 

             A person shouting at another.  A person hurting another.  A man crying. 

             Fear.  Pain.  Less.  Different.  Below.  Dark.  Hate.

             A shuddering breath violently racked through the man’s body.  Robotically, the man began bandaging himself, covering each and every cut with a plethora of bandages.  Sealing away the cuts that were slowly whittling him down to the bone.  Hiding the damage, unwilling to let the world see how much it hurt him.

             Sufficiently covered, the man stumbled to his room and collapsed on his bed.  Silently willing the pain to leave him and desperately wishing for the next day to be merciful.

-Whittle-

             Racism.  A concept that most would prefer turning a blind eye to.  Many are content to say that racism has been all but eradicated through the passage of time with seldom instances of violence, but it persists.  Even if acts of lynching and blatant degradation have lessened, racism has not disappeared.

             Subtle acts of hate can have just as much of an impact as a gunshot.  An instantly formed opinion.  An instinctual fear.  A single glare.  Any and all of these directed towards someone perceived as ‘different’ because the color of that individual’s skin is racism.  Even if it’s only for a moment, in that moment, a thousand things are said.  The history of a person’s internal hatred, disgust, and perceived superiority is laid bare, and it hurts.  It hurts so much.

             It hurts so much that even the smallest glare leaves a scar.  A scar that will never heal or fade no matter how much time passes.  An agony that most don’t even notice, and it adds up.  Even if each wound is small, the more that accumulate, the greater the pain.  The greater the damage, until, eventually, they collapse.