My hand quivers as it holds the knife at the hilt. It'll be a quick affair, I tell my self and get to it.

 

A slit and a chop later, maroon oozes and thick liquid drips from the knife.

 

I go for another cut, and some red splatters on my thumbs. I proceed with caution.

 

Another hit, and now my palms are pink.

 

I carry it over to the sink to wash it off. Drops of red hit the sink and the water runs off creating small puddles of thick maroon, then red to pink to water.

 

After I've dealt with the mess, I look at the stove, the beetroot has come to a boil.