Peter’s beard was wet with his tears. He knew he shouldn’t have entered the Onion Chopping Regional Championship. His eyes stung as if salt had been poured into them. He longed to reach up with his free hand, and rub his tears away, but he held strong, and continued to focus on his onions. “That’s only 3 onions now”, Peter worried. “Just how behind am I?” As Peter sliced away, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes were immediately set upon the dry pearly eyes of his competitors. “How do they do it?” He felt a pain, and his eyes welled up even more. Peter turned back to his work to realize the source of his pain. Through his tears, Peter could barely make out the blurred image of a pool of red flowing out from his severed thumb. Peter’s beard was now soaked.