Party

Party

I have my knife out. I begin making small cuts. I don't even really know why.
"Give me the knife Zoner."
No, I do not trust this one. I take another drink.
"Zoner, give me the knife."
He grabs for it, I pull it away. Make another cut in my arm.
"Zoner, that's not good. Stop it. Give me the knife."
No, can't he get the point?
He grabs it again. Misses. I stab the tip into my leg, through my denim jacket and my jeans. A warm burning feeling spreads. But it isn't unpleasant. More voices, new ones. A man and a woman.
"Zoner, you don't want to hurt yourself. Give me the knife."
Wavering, but no.
"Zoner, come on, hand it over."
His voice is stronger, I trust him.
"Am I going to have to put you in a sleeper hold and drag you home."
I laugh. Maybe I will. He grabs my arm and bends it back. She is on my lap. The first has my other arm. Another opens my hand. The knife is gone. I'm pissed, but he's cool.
"You don't want to be doing that. I understand, but your upsetting others."
I understand that. He joins me. We talk and drink. And the party goes on.

-megazone, a very stylized recounting of a party, 6/23/92