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SUMMER EDWARDS' FINGERS ARE DRENCHED in thin crimson red blood — the kind that sticks to your hands like glue to unwillingly dye them bright red.
Before fingers could be pointed or accusations could be made, it wasn't as bad as it seemed. It wasn't like Summer committed a murder — or at least attempted to commit one. It wasn't anything like that.
Sucking her teeth as she shook her fingers, she set her edged knife on the aged wooden cutting board on the stainless-steel countertop. Summer was lucky enough that only one of her hands had blood dribbling out of it, especially since she was currently at work, not in the safety to hide from random strangers that could surround her any moment now.
Summer worked at a local family-owned sandwich shop, Shane's Subs. A major part of her job was to prepare condiments, fresh vegetables, meats, and bread. Getting her crimson bodily fluids all over the something that a complete stranger would devour wasn't a good look for the small business. It would not only disappoint public food critics and bring down the restaurant's letter grade, but it would also scare away customers. For such a business that wasn't name-branded like others, that was just a bad business move.
And probably get her fired along the way.
If her boss were to walk into the room, he'd probably think that his fellow employee attempted to murder somebody, judging the amount of blood that seeped from her fingers. Anyone would think that. Even if no one was lying on the ground unconscious in their own pool of blood, Summer murdering a presumably innocent person would most likely be the first thing to flash into someone's head if they were to walk into the restaurant at the moment.
Then, the cops would get called, a few news channels would burst in, some people would swarm all over their food, then Summer would get fired.
Not exactly the best image.
But truth to be told, no one was murdered, stabbed, or hurt of any sort. Everyone was fine. All except for Summer and her poor body and soul, whose fingers stung from the crimson red droplets of blood dripping out of her two fingers — index and middle. Business that day was sort of slow, so to make good use of her remaining time, she decided to slice assorted meat, various versions of cheese, and fresh vegetables. While she was cutting up a tomato, her knife unintentionally slashed against two of her fingers, poking right through a layer of skin.
Ouch.
If anything, that made her look like a complete laughingstock. An embarrassment. Someone who didn't know how to do her own damn job. Someone who was possibly looking for a way to indirectly get away with murder.
Yeah, that's how horrible it looked.
For the sake of these traumatic events to hopefully not turn into an overdramatic reality, she turned to the sink behind her, lifting the faucet with her unharmed hand so she could thoroughly rinse out the cut. Running her harmed fingers under the uncomfortably freezing water stream, her ears pricked as she heard what seemed like a door slam from the front of the shop.
