Logophobia

It was just a stab.

Right.

Just a knife between the ribs.

Just a series of serrated cutlery slowly drawn through my body, rending flesh from flesh in a torrent of blood and gory horror.

Just a stab.

Only a little knick in the heart, the bleeding can be staunched.

Just apply pressure.

Even the tiniest blood clot can be lethal, even the deadliest poison can be cured, and even the sweetest voice can destroy a man.

Oh that candy-coated, sugar-plum'd voice. I have gravitated to it, like a child to the tall glass jar of licorice, though he can only have one taste.

And I can't afford the dime.