Wood Prick

It was bound to happen, sheerly based on the exposure I was suddenly getting. I mean, how could I have expected otherwise?

I sat on a stool, backpack still on my back, iPod in my ear, eagerly awaiting my steamed veggie dish. I remove a set of plastic-sealed chopsticks from the cup, and slid the plastic sheath off the wooden tool. It awarded me with a spear into my finger, and drew blood.

Traumatic, I know. But I regained my composure quickly, and with pinpoint accuracy, I extracted the javelin from my finger. Now, the only reminder left of that sliver's intrusion into this shrine is the trail of dried blood leading from the bloodstream to the outside.