The Silver Dagger

The rain was unrelenting, never stopping even after hours of the storm. The rain droplets trickled down the aluminium roof. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The hazy head of the girl began to rise, gaining consciousness. An instinct that entered her mind was to clutch the right side of her head where a shrill noise had entered through the sides of her ear and disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Yet she did not clutch the side of her head, instead staring blankly into open space. Her head pounded rhythmically to the beat of her own, pounding heart, akin to a hangover. Her sight was blurry, and ridiculously undependable, as if it was her first time seeing the world.

Well, it may very well be her first time seeing the world, for she could not remember a thing, not even her own name. Amnesia. Yet, her expressionless face and silence betrayed the emotion of panic that I knew she felt inside. It was amusing to see how severely traumatized humans were incapable of expressing feelings to such an extent, that they did not even seem human anymore.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

When the pounding in her head receded, her sight immediately cleared up in turn. She turned her head left and right, left and right, left and right, gaining up speed as the seconds went. Perhaps it had been some sort of game for her, and perhaps it was, since I did not know what went on in her head of hers. But there was nothing to see, anyways. It was only a murky cabin, with no windows and no door, wood tiles, wood walls, wood ceilings.

However, there seemed to be a quick change in her development when she heard the rattle that lay beside her, disturbed because of her constant movements. She nudged her hands, and the rattle appeared again. Jumping to the right conclusion, she held up her hands in great curiosity.


Pitter patter, pitter patter.

She was chained. The mute, little girl had been chained. Aw, poor thing. Chained like an animal. Like a dirty, helpless animal.





Why, oh why did the word repeat in her head? Simple, and it didn’t take very long for the girl to realize. It was related to her, it was related to her name.

And the name, it was at the tip of her tongue.



Mo… Mon…



The word then began to scream loud into the girl’s head, repeating itself over and over, torturing the little girl as she tried to uneffectively block out the sound by holding her two hands on her ears.







The girl dropped her head in pain, using her hands to crush her head in hopes to lessen the agony. And all I did was to watch with a smile.

Pitter patter, drip drip.

Yes, drip drip. Drip drip. Drip drip drip. The girl felt something wet, something very wet, soaking her hand. Raising her head once more, she focused on her left hand, and focused on seeing the red liquid, evidently staining her palm.


Then she felt the liquid flowing down her cheeks. Sticky, slightly condensed liquid. Beautiful liquid. She touched it with her finger and looked at the droplet of liquid.


Pitter patter, drip drip drip.

Slowly, she felt up her cheek to find the source of the blood. The beautiful, breathtaking blood. Gradually, gently, her fingers began to trace the flowing fluid upwards, to where she felt a soggy cloth. She looked at her hands again.

More blood.

Pitter patter, drip drip.

She felt the soggy cloth once more, where her left eye should be. She traced around her eye for a few seconds, and when she felt brave enough… She touched her eye. But she could feel nothing, it was devoid. So she touched her right eye, and she felt the immediate instinct to quickly pull away. But then she tried to touch the left eye instead, and she felt nothing. So she touched it again. Touch, touch, touch. She smiled a bit, repeatedly touching it for fun since she felt no need to retract her hand. Of course not.

She had no left eye. Her eye socket was empty.

Pitter patter, drip drip.

Her broadening smile slowly began to indicate her childish affection to her new toy. Touch, touch, touch, drip, drip, drip. She could do that for years, now that it was so much fun to her.

And yet, the chains clattered beneath her, striking an item she had missed during her last inspection. The silver item slid across the floor, putting it in full view in front of her, and with her childish curiosity of hers, she touched it. The perfect, iron blade with its equally perfect silver hilt. The silver dagger. She traced the blade and the hilt, hovering her shy fingers just slightly above it, her lips slowly parting at the excitement that surged through her bones.

Finally, she realizes, from the excitement the blade gave her. Finally, finally,finally! With her widening eyes, she finally remembered what she was to do. What grieved her so much, and what she was supposed to do to relieve herself of the pain. The reason why she had been chained to the room in the cabin, and why the silver dagger had chosen her. She finally remembered her life, her purpose, what her name meant, and her next move.

Pitter patter, drip… Drip.

She began to tremble, shiver, for the first time that she was in the room. She placed her palm on the hilt and gripped it. First, with fear and anxiousness, a weak grip which made the dagger immediately slide out of her hand and bounce off the floor. The girl scrambled for the dagger and held it once more in her bloody hands, staining the once clean blade.

The girl stared at the dagger, as her ragged breathing came through her clenched teeth. She glanced at her chest, and then back at the dagger again. Oh… was she going to do it? Was she? Wasn’t she? Will she? Did she have the strength to? Ah, the suspense! It could truly kill such a man to just watch with bated breath.

Pitter patter… Drip… Drip.

Then… Slowly… Delicately… She placed the tip of the blade on her chest, where her beating heart lay beneath her fragile bones. The cool, sharp tip of the blade, just newly sharpened for this single occasion. She should feel honored for such a privilege.

One could see that she was contemplating her decisions, and then laying it out in front of her. What did she have for her if she did not take her own heart? She would be a monster if she didn’t. But what if she took it? Of course, she would have still been a monster. Honestly, it was an easy decision, even I wondered why it would take so long for her to choose. Yes or no, the results were the same. I had to restrain myself from shouting at her to just get it over with, for the suspense and the drama was something that I could not handle very well.

And finally, she raised the silver dagger high above her head, her right eye always keeping a glare at the image the dagger reflected. Her ragged breath quickened, and her heart beat followed to keep up with the tempo. Her hand trembled with fear, yet she would not let the dagger out of her hold.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

It was now, or never.

Then, I heard the scream out of the cabin. The scream that had came from the little girl, the only sound that the mute had elicited. I smiled, she had undoubtedly exceeded my expectations.

I reached for my cane, hanging on wall, and played with the squishy orb inside the pocket of my jacket with my free hand. Oh yes, the little girl will be so fun to play with, I mused as I reached for the doorknob.

I stopped in my tracks as I thought of it. Though perhaps… Yes. It wouldn’t be so interesting if I didn’t.

My smile broadened.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

Perhaps it was time that I returned her left eye.


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