~Percy

It was common for an old weapon to wash up on the shore of the lake. People threw other people's weapons in as pranks, and some people just lost them. Blades littered the sandy floor, two within arms reach.

I reached for the nearest blade. It was a small golden dagger with someone's initials engraved onto the side. I flipped the blade open, inspecting the slightly rusted blade, and held it to my arm.

For a split second, I hesitated. Am I really doing this? I shook my head.

A waste of space, I thought, and brought the knife down on my arm.

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