Dionne
The kitchen was warm and filled with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread, but I couldn't smell any of it. All I could smell was blood and death, no matter how many times I'd scrubbed my hands raw trying to wash it away.
"Dionne, those carrots won't chop themselves, quit glaring at them." Chef Marcus's voice cut through my daze.
I looked down at the cutting board where I'd been standing motionless for who knew how long, the knife loose in my trembling hand. The carrots sat untouched, their bright orange a jarring contrast to the dark red that still filled my vision every time I blinked.
"Sorry, Chef." The words came out hoarse, and I forced my hands to move, to grip the knife properly and begin the familiar motion of chopping.
