The air is cold and the lights are dim. Even in the coolness of the early morning, my palms sweat. I pull the blade from it's sheath and begin the ritual. Scrape goes the blade over the sharpening stone. Scratch goes the blade over the honing stone. An action repeated equally on both edges of the knife. Honing the blade to a glistening edge. One blade after another, until they are all perfectly sharpened. I look at my victims laid out in a specific order. I can see the veins and their limbs as they wait for me. I move my sharpened cutlery to where my victims lay. With each precision cut I spill their blood and juices. One by one they are precisely cut. I begin to tear up as I am splattered by the juices from them. My hands are stained red with their life's blood. As quickly as the carnage begins, so it ends. The vegetable are set aside and made ready for my kitchen and the making of the days fare.