Chekhov's Gun Challenge: The Silver Knife

[Falcon]

Chekhov's Gun Challenge, Cyan

Chekhov's Gun is a writing trope used to mean that a seemingly insignificant object has turned out to be important to the plot. For example, the ring Frodo found in Gollum's cave in "The Hobbit" turned out to be the One Ring in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy.

Any little thing can help you further your plot.

To Participate: I will give you an insignificant object and the setting in which it is first seen. Then you post a way in which that object could be used to further the plot.

example

Item and Setting Given: A stick brought back by the dog.

Way in which it can be used:
First mention of object - Peter's dog is always bringing back sticks. Peter has a habit of letting them collect by his front poach.

The object becomes important when - One day while running from a band of trolls, Peter and his friends try to take refuge behind his house. Looking for something to throw at the trolls to distract them, one of the characters picks up the stick Peter's dog brought back earlier and . . . ZAP! that stick was actually the missing magic wand belonging to the Good Fairy. Now the trolls are all made of stone and if they can get the fairy back her wand maybe she can help them find the lost prince and save the day!

The Item and Setting:
A Silver Knife, Left on a Desk​

 

[Moogle-Girl]

Sweat poured from Frank's skin as though he was covered in hundreds of miniature faucets. His clothes clung to his skin, his breathing was lightning fast, and his heart pounded in his chest like a kick drum. This was it. This was how he would die. He had no chance, no hope, nothing. Everyone else had some kind of useful skill, magical or otherwise, something they could use to fight, but they had all perished. What they had was not enough, and Frank had even less. All his life, he'd despaired over having such a dull, forgettable repertoire of talents, and now it would finally prove to be the one damning factor at the end of his life.

He was hiding underneath the kitchen table, with only a wooden door and the hastily constructed blockade in front of it between him and his permanent end. Sounds of claws digging through wood and teeth furiously gnashing together made Frank squeak pitifully. What could he do? How could he escape? Furiously, Frank scanned his surroundings for the hundredth time, but he knew it was futile. The kitchen was in the middle of the house, surrounded on all sides by other rooms, and the only exits were on the other side of the monster. That werewolf. No one suspected Zack, no one thought his odd behavior was anything more than him being himself. But tonight, on this night of the full moon, they had learned just what dark secrets he held.

Despair claimed Frank's mind, and he stood, leaving his hiding place under the table. What could he do but open the door and welcome oblivion? It wasn't like there was much waiting for him outside the house. All of his friends were gone. Just as he started to walk past the kitchen table, something metal caught his eye. A silver knife. It had belonged to Sarah, as a part of her collection of antiques. Frank couldn't imagine why it had been left out. Sarah was always so possessive of her collection.

Frank found himself picking up the knife and turning it over in his hand. Silver. The knife was pure silver, wasn't it? It wasn't meant to be eaten with, he didn't think. Collectibles were only meant to be displayed...right? It wasn't very sharp, just a butter knife really. And yet, it had been left out for him. As if his silent pleas had been answered. Perhaps he had a chance after all. A chance to finally prove that he was worth some recognition. Just a little bit would make him happier than everything, maybe even make up for all the loss he'd suffered...

And besides, what more did he have to lose?

Still shaking, sweating, and near-hyperventilating, Frank gripped the knife, crossed the room, and opened the door.