A well used handle and a double sharp blade; fingers curling around the black grip; thumb hooking through the other side. The anxiety but purposefulness of cutting a freehand line; placing the paper between the farthest crease of the blades; finally hearing the determined snip, that first sawing sound of the breaking of a solid, irreparable to its former state. Whether too large, heavy or clumsy in your nimble fingers, or surrounded by the pressurized fear that they may not unwrap themselves from your sturdy digits, the power and danger are yours when wielding a pair of scissors. Perhaps they fit you perfectly, are designed to mold to your hand, the colour chosen for its tone and semblance in your mind; its gleam a smile upon your table. Or, when used for permanence, not with any plethora of paper materials, but with a human subject, the damage inflicted can create joy or anguish, but will nevertheless be damage of the utmost irreverse - the strands may grow back of course, but can never be reattached. But, such is the relief when an untimely wad of pink gum is snipped from the tresses, or the matted locks of an animal is tamed; scissors can afford violence and relief in one blow; in one choice movement of the fingers. We will not expand upon the use of the closed blade when gripped in a fist of rage, or the resourceful purpose one shiny pair can have to a frustrated and wandering eye. But this use is present regardless of our summary or dwelling on it. When lying seemingly dormant upon the shelf or muzzled within a drawer, one might forget the lethal snap of its jaws until once again manned by an individual for some purpose; until the sound of shredding, of unbalanced angles and sliced debris litter the floor at your feet. If you’re made to clean up the ensuing mess, is it the blades you resent, or the person wielding them? Surely to blame something inanimate for destruction is folly, and yet it is right in the simplest of ways: it was the power of the blades that snip, and the pairing of one whose wishes to cut guiding the weapon. When phrased that way, it may be easier to accept an item’s violent nature than that of a human; of a sentient being capable of creating and distributing and utilizing said destructive thing. Were not possessions invented to do our bidding, would we be more capable with our hands, and our abilities? If scissors had a softer edge, would they not still perform the menial tasks we have for them, but lose the ability to be snatched in a passion of vengeance? It is in our nature to crave power, but if one were not hoarding power over the other, would we feel such envy and desire for what another has? There are other ways to trim paper and to tame hair. Even ways to hurt other living things.