“The act calls for a dozen knives. One by one they thud into place, so close that I can feel the cold of their steel almost-but-not-quite touching my flesh.”
A short story about the feelings of a knife-thrower’s assisstant.
“I send her a message an hour before I arrive telling her that I want her to fight. When I get to her house she lets me in as normal. We go upstairs. She is breathing heavily.”