Dude, if you are readin' this, I have got a new latest admirer who thinks that though aged, I am still young enough to slit anyone's throat and expose the C-shaped rings of cartilage.

I am still good enough. Sharp enough. I'm sharp at words. Huh. My parents were both adorned in the ancient Guillotines. There. I can sense the chills you are having at this moment. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. At this age, I'm rusted. Bland. There was me : rotting away in a smelly, dingy corner. I had only one thing to do. I could dream.

Wonderin' what knives dream about, huh ? Well, what to say, sometimes I was Alexander's sword and sometimes a butcher's mighty blade. Oh yes. You can call this envy. Enmity. I was even jealous of the local barber's pair of scissors. There's the click-click and one person came out in a new hairstyle. In my younger days, Thomas used to cut tomatoes with me. Then that tangy orange juice would ooze out that had quite a taste. I have bad memories too. Once I ripped open a moth's intestines as I fell to the floor. 

And from then, I had this sadistic desire to kill.  Murder - The word itself is unpleasant. So that day it was like a dream-come-true. Thomas( an older version) carried me to a little burglary expedition. Gosh, it was intimidating. And till this day I remain stuck to the heart of an old lady. I had almost pierced halfway through. There has been no discoveries till date. I am starting to smell really gross nowadays. And that queer desire to kill has been quenched. The lady looks blankly at me. And these days, I honestly think that life being exposed isn't all good.