The Cut

Rebecca Graf
8 min readMay 22, 2024

Terri breathed in deep as the blood pulsated and splattered on the cabinet and pooled on the kitchen floor. Her heart raced and pounded in her chest. It matched the pumping of the blood. She had to calm down. She had to slow the blood loss. Her brain registered that. Her body did not.

The room seemed to appear on a movie screen. She sat in the audience and watched the bloody scene before her.

“Get a towel around it!” she shouted from her viewing position.

Finally, Terri snapped back to reality and grabbed the towel that hung over the cabinet door under the sink. Wrapping it tight against the cut on her hand, she gingerly stepped over the glass pieces scattered on the floor.

Keys. She needed to find the car keys.

Taking another steadying breath, she stopped moving and let her eyes roam around the room. On the coffee table? Kitchen table? On the counter? There! Her purse lay in the seat of a kitchen chair where she had dropped it coming in from the store. The keys peeked out from the unzipped purse.

As she grabbed her purse, she noticed the darkened red of the once pale yellow towel. She needed to the hospital quickly.

On the way to the car, she kept muttering, “Calm down. Breathe deep.”



Rebecca Graf

Writer for ten years, lover of education, and degrees in business, history, and English. Striving to become a Renassiance woman.