Minerva jerked her hand, out of the map drawer, in pain. Blood dripped down her palm and spattered the old wooden floor.
“Shit! What the hell!”
She wrapped her other hand around the wound. Something had cut her. Cut her bad. Blood welled between her fingers and soaked her shirt sleeve.
Well, that was a lot of blood but nowhere near fatal. What was it, 2 maybe 5 liters depending on body size before someone bled out? Do non-writers have these kind of facts off the top of their heads? wondered Minerva as she opened the first aid kit on the wall leaving bloody smears on its pristine white plastic. She grabbed a gauze pad and ripped it open to press to the wound. Well, this was a fine start to the week.
Six stitches, 2 hours in the ER (who says there’s no benefits to living in the middle of nowhere) and a unscheduled lunch break later– Minerva went back up to the attic to figure out what had cut her. This time she pulled the drawer completely out. Inside was a cloth bundle with a glinting blade sticking through the gray canvas. Minerva turned over the attached tag. It read, “Veterinary Equipment CAUTION Knife is sharp”.