The Carver
The faint sound of children could be heard in the distance, reminding him of what night it was. He carefully pulled out his knifes, smiling at each one like it was an old friend, and tenderly placing it on the table. Picking up the largest one he quickly sharpened it and began his work. Each cut was rival to that of a skilled surgeon, the blade slicing through like butter. With a resounding clank he set the knife back on the table, and he stepped back to admire his handwork. His pumpkin was going to be the best one.
