One thousand one letters

I watched my father hack at it with his knife, which bounced off without leaving a mark. The look of horror on my mother’s face reflected the emotions that I felt. With a curse my father admitted the truth to himself; there was no way to pierce the outer carapace, it was over. Backing away slowly, drenched in sweat, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on it, knife clenched in one hand, he shakily voiced what we all knew it our hearts, “It’s over, there is nothing that I can do. Honey, what did you glaze the ham with?”