Butcher Knife

In the darkness of a lonely room only the light of a television illuminates a lone chair. A middle-aged man with low eyes and a saddened yet blank expression sits heftily on the chair, remote in hand and channel surfing like a brain that wouldn't stay.

Bored and not at all entertained, he flipped through the channels, passing show by show. Voices cut off by random other chatter of following channels. The man lifted his arms in a yawn, his shirt barely able to contain his large girth hiding beneath the stained shirt.

In mid-yawn, he quickly turned his head to the side, as I'd startled by something. His heart began to beat, his eyes searched the room.

Nothing.

He dismissed his fears and continued his routine, resting his head on a fist. For about a minute he continued his channel surfing and blinked.

An unknown man with his left arm raised behind him flashed in front of him.

The man, startled, quickly raised himself from the chair. He searched the room for the strange visitor. Nothing.

He settles himself down then unsettlingly sits down again, eyes focused on the darkness that loomed around the television.

He blinks. The man re-appears with his arm raised, just a little lowered from the first glance.

The man only lifts a head. He noticed a pattern. He blinks again, the man appears again with the arm even more lowered than the last time. Curious yet fascinated by his findings, he continues to blink and as if in picture-movie form, the man comes to life; his arm lowering slowly. The man notices something in his hand. Butcher knife.

He stops blinking, not sure what would happen but fearing the worst. The worst thing about forcing yourself not to blink is... Well... You blink.

The man, too focused on not blinking felt his eyes begin to water, lusting for his eyelid's moist. The man couldn't take it. He blinks.

This time the knife is closer.

The man panics. Another blink, another inch closer. Suddenly the man gets frantic, sweating profusely and unable to control himself, another blink. Another inch. It didn't take too much time for him. Another blink. Another inch. Another blink. Another inch.

Suddenly. Nothing. The man managed to keep his eyes open. Silence loomed throughout the room.

The urge began to rise again. Fighting immensely, the man could not contain himself. He began to laugh insanely, his eyes watering. He blinked quickly and continuously. The man's movements became more fluid and the knife came closer and closer until... It fell...

The television's light no longer illuminated a bored man's couch or flickered to different channels. It only shined light on a man with his head split open by a phantom butcher knife.