Where it Starts

Photo credit@ Google’s Pegman took a walk in Edinburgh. For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

“Wanna’ be one of us? Do ya’? Yeah?
Then you gotta’ mesh. Gotta’ fit in.”
Cyril didn’t like the way Weeter twitched his neck
and snapped his fingers between words
as if a song rolled up and down his spine.
But, man, he wanted to be like him.
So Cyril followed him inside.
If he was expecting the smell of shave soap and aftershave,
which he wasn’t,
Cyril would’ve been disappointed.
Instead, the stench of meat and fish assailed his nose
made his eyes sting.
Lights were dim; windows painted black.
Still, when a blade managed to glint,
Cyril thought his heart would pop right out of his chest.
“This’s it. Make yer mark.”
Cyril hefted the knife, balanced it across his palm.
“Do it, man. Do it. Do it. Do it!”
Cyril sliced, quick and sharp.
Weeter pounded him on the back.
“Welcome to the Backyard Butcher’s Club!”

(150 words)