Sitting under my shelter of twigs and leaves, I look at the knife in my hand warily.
There was always something unnerving about knives to me. I know why, of course, but I've never told anyone about it, nor my reasons.
I look up at the coconuts that sat on a platform.
Two of them were smashed to hell from Round 1. The other three coconuts stood innocently, with its brown wool locks and blue cotton rimmed around the neck.
I winced at how they disfigured my two coconuts.
They could've been less gruesome about it...