Nemo; The fascination started when he was only six years old. Originally, he'd only come into the kitchen to find something to eat but by only being a child, he was easily distracted. It was there on the counter, carelessly left out by one of the other residents. Nemo stared at it for a while. He'd seen knives being used before, but he'd always been told by his mother not to touch them. 'No. Dangerous. You'll cut yourself and you'll get hurt.' Being the good boy he is, he never really paid much attention to it and just did as he was told. Children are always more interested in the things they're not allowed to have. Could it really be that bad?... I'll be careful. I just want to hold it. I want to do something only adults are allowed to do. I'm a brave boy. Nemo strides up to the counter to get a closer look. It appears clean. Shiny. I like the way the light looks on the metal. It's pretty. It's not serrated. It has a smooth blade. No one is watching, no one to tell him not to touch it, and curiosity has gotten the better of the child. 


A small hand rises to take hold of the handle firmly and Nemo picks it up, holding it infront of his face.  His eyes flash a brilliant red, glowing for a split second and he grins at his reflection shown on the sharp object. That wasn't so bad. I'm fine. 


Denzel always tried his hardest to keep Nemo safe, and it worked, for the most part. The only time Nemo can ever remember bleeding was when he was four years old. Denzel had taken him into the garden on a sunny morning, and everything was fine until Nemo caught sight of the vibrant red roses. Attracted to the colour, and never having to worry about flowers before, he instantly ran over to the bush to pick one, but ended up pricking his finger on one of the thorns. He'd only caught sight of the crimson bead on his finger for a second before Denzel had rushed over, wiped it away and healed his finger. Nemo cried. Not because it hurt, but because he had wanted to see the blood for a little longer. However, Denzel didn't know that. It was always made out by his mother that blood was a very bad thing, so Nemo wanted to know why. Denzel had then picked the small child up, and carried him back inside. The incident was forgotten about, until now.


The thorn was sharp. This knife is sharp. Pricking my finger didn't hurt much, it was the shock of it that got me, not the pain. It wouldn't hurt and I'll be expecting it. He hesitates for some time, debating whether to stick with what his mother always told him, or to see the blood, which he has never really seen in his life. The blood wins him over and he reaches out with his free hand, extending his index finger. Nemo applies pressure onto the tip, wincing a little until he feels the skin break. Putting the knife back down, he studies his finger. Sure enough, the liquid has appeared, and this time, there is no mummy around to make it go away. He lets it bead up until the blood runs in a line towards his palm.  Nemo hadn't expected it to have a scent. Water doesn't, so why should this? It does, and it appeals to him. It's a distinctive smell. Water doesn't have much of a taste, maybe this does. Flicking his tongue out to his palm, Nemo tastes it. It's peculiar, but he's fond of it. It's not awful, and he likes the after taste it leaves in his mouth. Coppery, yet sweet. I love the way it looks, smells and tastes. 


Waiting for the blade to pierce his skin also gave him a thrill. The anticipation of what was to come of it. Thinking about it makes him giddy. Why are knives bad? Look at what they can do! Nemo looks around the kitchen. There is still no one there, but he knows that someone probably will be soon. Picking up the knife again, he hides it and slowly walks into the bathroom, avoiding being seen with it. If he'd been caught, he would have been in a lot of trouble for sure.


Nemo sits on the floor. He wants to do it again. Rolling up his sleeve, he places the blade on his upper arm. Just a small nick, that's all. He shudders. This is exciting for him. He's not allowed to do this, but it doesn't really seem too harmful. He slices a small cut into his  arm, and grins as he watches the blood well up and spill. The sharp pain was oddly nice, and quickly cooling blood feels great as it trails down his skin. He plays with the liquid with his finger, intrigued, spreading it until it dries out. No more. I don't want anyone to notice. Nemo washes the blood away and cleans the knife, and quickly returns the knife back in the kitchen, exactly where he found it. 


He acts as if nothing happened that day, when infact it did. He'd always been attracted to the colour red.
Now I love red, blood, pain and sharp objects, but more specifically, knives. They give me thrills. 


Better not let mummy find out.