A Little Pinprick Novels & Stories

Gritting my teeth, I pinched the back of his hand hard, hoping to make him stop, but he only smirked. I pinched the back of his hand, a sharp, brutal twist meant to hurt. But he didn’t even flinch. His fingers only gripped my thigh tighter in response, his nails digging in just enough to make me wince. I gritted my teeth, my breath coming out uneven. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I reached for my fork, my movements fluid and precise. My pulse pounded in my ears as I pressed the sharp metal against the back of his hand and stabbed down—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough for him to feel the sharp sting of pain.

The weight of our situation pressed down, heavy and suffocating. It was then, amidst the debris of a collapsed building, that Kelly unearthed it – a small, tarnished silver locket. It lay half-buried in the dust, its surface scratched and worn, yet somehow managing to retain a faint, almost ethereal glow. We gathered around it, the faint glimmer a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Inside, nestled amongst the faded velvet lining, was a single, faded photograph.

The sharp point of the silver pin slides right past the fabric and drives deep into the pad of my index finger. I let out a sharp hiss, dropping the pin. A bright, perfectly round drop of blood immediately wells up on my skin. "Oh, shit, careful," she says, leaning forward. "Those industrial pins are brutal. Do you need a band-aid?" "No, I'm fine," I say quickly. I grab a scrap piece of black tape off the table and press it tightly against my finger as panic spikes in my chest.

“Wanted to ask… about something.” Riven tilted his head. “Something… important?” “Yes. Extremely important,” I said, fumbling with my pocket as if the hairpin was the key to literally everything in the universe—which, honestly, it kind of felt like it was. “It’s… a pin. A small, metallic, extremely incriminating pin.” He raised an eyebrow again. “A pin? You’ve got my attention. Do explain.”

The needle was thin and much shorter than those in normal syringes used for blood collection. Under normal circumstances, it shouldn’t hurt too if a needle as short as this pricked one’s skin. Yet, the leader was met with an entirely different sensation. Just as the tip of the needle plunged into his flesh, terrible pain shook him to the core.

I sifted through them quickly, my heart sinking as I realized there was nothing helpful. But then, at the very bottom, I spotted a small tin can. It was dented and covered in rust, but something about it made me pause. I picked it up, shook off the dust, and pried it open. Inside was a single, rusted pin. Its tip was slightly bent and worn but still sharp. This might just work. My heart leapt as I held it up, turning back to Lila with a small smile. “I think I’ve got it.”

It was like the look a lion would give his prey. “Mm-hmm?” I held the pin between my fingers carefully and then got close to his neck, placing a gentle kiss there. Then right there, I used the pin, poking it in his neck. “Ow, what was that?” He asked in a soft voice, still carried away by his pleasure. “Nothing, baby. Just a little nibble, don’t you like that?” I sat back up, continuing my grinding motion, waiting for the venom to kick in.

Then he excuses himself. “My Princess looks prettier than the bride,” I said as I pinched the little girl's chin. Annie quietly climbed to my lap as soon as the door's closed. Her small hands slowly reached my face. Those tiny fingers started to trace around my cheeks as if she was connecting invisible dots. I intercepted those small hands and kissed each of the tiny fingers. “I'm sorry,” I whispered through thin air.

Devon squeezes my hand as we walk down a hall that smells like bleach, his brow still locked in a worried furrow. Margaret leads us to an exam room and turns on the lights as we all settled in. She directs me to the exam table. “Where are you hurt?” she asks kindly. I shake my head. “They didn’t hurt me, at least, I don’t think they did. I hadn’t eaten much or had much to drink before I got home, so I feel a bit weak, but not anymore. The only thing different physically is this pin hole.” I show her the place where my Band-Aid had been.

What if the impossible explanations were actually the true ones? As I shifted my weight, something sharp pressed against my hip through the torn fabric of my pants. I reached down carefully, my fingers finding a small piece of metal that must have torn loose during the struggle. It was a bent paperclip or safety pin, maybe two inches long, with one end sharpened to a point. It wasn't much of a weapon, but as my fingers closed around it, a memory surfaced like air bubbles through deep water. *“Always carry something small and sharp, mija,” my mother’s voice echoed in my head. “You’d be surprised what you can do with a bobby pin and enough determination.”*