Help Name My Face-Flayer!
For the last two weeks, I have been pressing a cold blade to my face and having it shear off my epidermis. This straight razor has removed hairs, supped on my blood, tasted my fear as I have learned to come to an uncomfortable balance with it.
Yet we have never been properly introduced.
As the lovely Sheryl points out, if I am going to have a blade, it should damn well have a name. I don’t really want to name it as a weapon, as if it’s drawing blood, it’s my own fault. Still, the blade is unforgiving, and I feel that perhaps granting it a semblance of the life it is so cheerfully nicking from my face might help me to keep things together.
So. What is my razor’s name? I’ll announce a winner sometime next week.