Bloody Knife Drawing Novels & Stories

It was beginning to get on my nerves, I looked around and spotted a penknife on the tray against the wall that contained my beverages and cups. I took it and played with it for a while as the knock continued, intensively, I threw the penknife right into the box where the knocking was done. I know for a doubt, the penknife was stuck in between someone's finger. "Ouch! Ahhh!" I heard a loud , prolonged cry from the other side as others tried to help him out. Now, there is peace! "Huff!" I breathed out. The door suddenly opened and Felix pulled out the penknife which had blood work on it. That's a nice sim, Alex but next time aim straighter!

I pulled into his house, no need for forced entry, I had a mod, unlocked the door and strode peacefully to his bathroom. I pulled the knife out, wore my apron and pulled the knife on the neck, careful not to splash much blood on myself. I pulled my Journal, it was a little rough but it kept all that was left of my sanity. Dipping a feather into the cutthroat, I wrote, No. 57: unknown, but looks exactly like her. ***

My entire body looks gory and I don’t know where the skin ends and where the blood starts. Drake looks extremely happy with his artwork as he kept looking at me over and over again. When he saw that I was already awake, he laughed at me and brought out something else. A butcher’s knife. Knives seem to be his speciality and he wasn't hesitating to use it. What does he plan to do with the butcher’s knife? Does he want to cut me up into pieces like they did to him?

Rodion Kostantin ----- Fuck! I drew a handkerchief and swabbed the disgusting blood off my left jaw line. The human being could have at least squirted the information I needed rather than his stupid blood. He was perched on the seat with an open throat where my knife was still stuck. His eyes were both sagging loose from their sockets and his whole self was covered with his own blood. He looked worse than anyone I had ever murdered before. The sight though didn't satisfy the cravings in me. It always did, but this time, it was not working.

The guilt clawed at me, the pain in my hand spiking. Without a second thought, I reached for the drawer and pulled out ‘the’ knife, the cool steel glinting under the dim light. I knew the edge well and had felt it slice through my skin too many times to count. I lifted it, placing it in my hand, I drew it slowly down the length of my right forearm, watching blood rise in thin, scarlet lines.

He placed it on the desk, and I walked over to it, holding my hand over it. I pierced my skin with the tip of the knife, stifling a grunt of pain when it cut open the skin and blood pools at the top. I make a wider mark, watching the blood bubble up until I bend my palm over, squeezing my fist so it drips blood into the bowl.

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

Each time the rays from the sun hit it, it creates contrast light. He laughed out loud as he brought the knife closer to his eyes. With just a slash within a second, blood was all over his handsome face. His hands were covered in blood, and the floor was completely dyed red. He then pressed a button on the handle of the knife. The knife changed its shape, now looking short with wide, sharp blades. Mike grins, bringing the knife closer to his face. He made three cuts and then stood up, his black pants dripping red, and his sky blue t-shirt had red all over it.

I can feel the blood trickling down the column of my throat, down my chest, and beads of blood rolling beneath my shirt. I refuse to call out at the small pain and instead glare at the evil man. He brings the knife up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the blood that coats the tip of the dagger. His eyes turn from the deep lifeless black, glazing over into a smoky grey as he licks the blade clean. I have no idea what’s going on, but I look to my side and see Twenty-Nine licking his lips watching his master with greedy mustard color eyes. As if he too wants a taste of my blood.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.