A Sharper Edge

A sudden, jerky leap carried me down to the bottom concrete step of the front porch. Clutching my flat paddle tight, I dragged its edge violently across the coarse stone in short, frantic scrapes. A harsh, gritty screech cut through the quiet air as fine grey dust flaked away, grinding the rim into a clean, brutal line. A dry oak leaf skittered past my ankle, but I froze instantly, thin legs locked rigid and mouth gaping wide in absolute silence. I held my ground without flinching, admiring the fresh scraped bevel against the rough stone.