A Little Pinprick Novels & Stories

It read 'Little Pricked Gang. "Little Pricked? That doesn't sound that embarrassing." Wilson muttered to himself. "At most, it just has a funny story behind it." Charlie heard Wilson muttering to himself. He chuckled and whispered into Wilson's ears, "Shout 'I am little pricked'!" Wilson in response, spread out his arms and yelled out. "I am little pricked!" Then he understood.

“It's going to be small. So it will be over in 10 minutes.” “Okay. I'm not afraid. Just haven't done it before.” Dorian keeps his back turned, but his ears are tuned to every sound. A moment later, he hears a faint, sharp intake of breath from her mouth as the needle first bites into the sensitive skin of her hip. “Sorry, miss” “Mike” Dorian warns as his eyes shoot to hers. “Can’t help that, Dorian. You should know. Comes with the sport,” he says without looking up.

It blended almost seamlessly into the wall, its color so similar that it appeared unobtrusive, yet I spotted it right away. This pinhole camera was alarmingly small; if Peter hadn’t previously introduced me to similar equipment, I might have completely overlooked it. A chill ran through me as I processed this discovery. The implications were unsettling—my every move could be monitored, and Neil’s room, despite its warmth and comfort, held secrets I hadn’t anticipated.

What was needle-pricking? Her head was in a mess! She blinked and asked, “So, what does this have anything to do with Charmine and my brother?” Harry was speechless. He pursed his lips and said, “In simpler terms, you prick this into your brother’s arm for thirty seconds, take it out, and prick into Charmine’s skin. She won’t be in any more pain.” Dior was stunned for two seconds before she finally reacted as her eyes widened. “That powerful?” “Yes.”

The car was pure comfort. There was something else, a black velvety box labeled 'for miss Mira' sat beside me. I smiled giddily, eager to know what was in it. Inside was a delicate pink flower bouquet—ethereal, breathtaking. It was so beautiful. I hadn’t seen this type but I wanted to bask in its scent. A blue tag was also in it accompanied by a note that read— Hey beautiful, get the tag on your wrist. I really hope to surprise you.

And it's definitely not through begging. God, what kind of hell on earth have I gotten myself into? I sighed and turned away. As I walked back to the bed, I stepped on something sharp. "Ouch!" I cried, staring down to see what it was. On the floor laid a pin I didn't seem to have seen earlier. I winced at the pain, settling back on the edge of the bed while my finger hoovered the edges of the wound. Thankfully, there wasn't much blood, save only that the pain stung like hell.

“A word.” I follow him a few steps down the hallway, “What is it?” I ask. He lowers his voice. “I checked her shoulder, like you said.” My attention sharpens immediately. “And?” “There’s a puncture mark,” he replies. “It’s small and easy to miss if you’re not looking for it.” “What kind?” I ask.

she asked him immediately forwarding her little pinky towards him. "What's that?" he asked her coldly making her slap her forehead. "Y-y-you don't know pinky p-promise? P-p-pinky promise means true p-promise which you can't b-break or else your n-nose will turn red like a j-joker." she said snickering at him making him amused but nonetheless he shook his head. "Okay pinky promise." he said nonchalantly but she frowned at him. "N-n-not like this. H-h-hook your pinky with mine." she said extending her pinky more towards him.

The next day, Gabe updated his Instagram with a new photo. A blanket covered his lower abdomen. One hand held up the camera, deliberately revealing his chest and the ambiguous marks along his neck. On the other pillow, a woman's profile could be seen—eyes still closed. Caption: [So what? She's still mine.] The post was made visible only to me. No—also to Carrie. Because she had liked it. I glanced at it casually, then tapped "like" myself before going to sleep.

The morphine helped her sleep comfortably. Her body looked tiny on the colossal bed and it pinched me on the inside to see her life diminishing day by day. There was a grey pallor to her face and her knuckles and collarbones protruded like door knobs. Her wispy hair poked in different directions and she always looked at us with droopy eyes like she was half-dreaming. Still, I never heard her complain once and it made me proud to have such a strong little sister.