A journal sat on a desk in an empty classroom, open to a fresh page. Next to it was a first aid kit, open as well. Standing in front of the desk was Guillermo, holding a knife and breathing slowly as he looked down at his open palm. He hadn’t tried cutting yet. After steadying himself for a few more seconds, he took the plunge; holding his breath, he sliced the knife across his hand so deep it made blood spill onto the floor and a yelp came out of him, a few droplets landing on the notebook too. The knife clattered to the floor as he dropped it, his now-free hand open with tense muscles. His eyes never left the wound on his hand and within just a few very long seconds, the wound began to heal itself and the blood that had been spilled remained but with no more wound, no more spilled.
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