Robert
When Robert’s sideburns had begun to creep down his face and his chin began to coarsen, his father, whom I had served for many years, entrusted me to him. Although cherished by his father, Robert cast me aside and expected me to welcome him back upon his return. Tarnish quickly swept over our point of contact like a sunset, illuminating my edge. Nonetheless, as sparse, soft bristle turned to stubble, we began to meet more frequently. The tarnish left me no choice but to nick him. Personally, I thought the blood was the worst part. I hated leaving scars on those whom I love. Scars do not heal.