Chainsaw Cutting Crooked Novels & Stories

“Slice the vegetables. Carrots, zucchini, bell peppers. Thin strips for even roasting.” I took the knife, feeling its serious weight in my hand. I selected a carrot, peeled it clumsily, and positioned it on the cutting board. My first cut was hesitant, the blade slipping, producing a jagged, uneven slice. The second was worse. He watched for a minute, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Then he shook his head. “No. Not like that. You’ll cut your finger off.” Before I could protest or try again, he was moving. He stepped directly behind me. His chest pressed lightly against my back, warm and solid through our clothes.

I didn't wait. Slid sideways into the gap. Scalpel up under a guard's armpit. Into the nerve plexus. Ripped out. Left hand on his failing wrist. Twisted. The scimitar went loose. Caught it midair. Backhand toward the chains. Three full spins. The blade never struck the chain. The tip wedged into the cotter pin gap. Connecting ring to wall anchor. Momentum and mass pried the pin from its rusted socket.

"Like this." His hands moved efficiently, pressing the cutter through the apple flesh, twisting slightly, then popping out a perfect star. He did two more in quick succession. "Your turn." I took the cutter back, mimicking his movements. My first attempt mangled the apple slice, cutting off one point of the star. "Press straight down," the cook instructed. "Don't twist until it's all the way through." I tried again. Better, but still lopsided. The cook watched me butcher two more slices before shaking his head. "Good enough for today. She'll get the idea."

“Good to hear. We will leave tomorrow morning.” Everyone filed out of the conference room except for Chris. He stayed behind, looking at the swords Jackson had created. Chris had admired the fact that Jackson had crafted everything, including the blade. The blade was only sharp on one side, unlike the rest of the swords in the bunker. Each of the blades had a small notch on the front side of the blade to lock it into place when attached.

Every nerve in my body noticed, and they misfired. “Relax, you’re holding the knife too tightly.” His baritone scratched an itch in my brain. I tried too. I really did. I held my breath and counted to five. Yet, my heart still drummed in my chest. “You cut it like this.” Zane’s fingers adjusted mine, guiding mine as the knife cut through the carrot. He did it again. Lord knew I wasn’t staring at the carrot, but our hands. How his hand looked much bigger than mine. How they…how they….

' they thought. "You got a problem with that?" Alexander watched their puzzled faces, a slight smile on his lips. He set down his wine glass, stepped forward, and picked up the machete Giano dropped. Gripping the handle in his right hand and pinching the blade with his left thumb and forefinger, he began to apply pressure. Creak, creak! The machete, crafted from a tough alloy, contorted and warped in Alexander's grip. It let out a series of loud, metallic groans until, with a resounding 'bang', it burst into a shower of metal fragments.

A glint of metal caught the light as Spencer produced a sharp blade. “You’re going to regret ever crossing my family,” Spencer vowed, his voice devoid of emotion. With a swift motion, Spencer’s men pinned Chase’s legs to the floor. Chase screamed as Spencer raised the blade, his eyes fixed on the gleaming metal. The blade descended, slicing through fabric and flesh with ease. Chase’s screams turned to agonized wails as his legs were cut off from the knees, blood gushing from the wounds. Spencer stood back, his eyes never leaving Chase’s contorted face.

I'm not sure how much he's already cut, but he chops away as if slicing butter with a hot butter knife. I stand there, looking at him with sadness in my eyes. I have never seen him this angry. He and his uncle are very connected, and I hate seeing them fighting. The wood is scattered all over the place, and it's piling high once I start gathering it and placing it neatly, one on top of the other, until I get a big splinter on my palm.

I gently held her soft Long dark locks, the green colored high lights look more beautiful up close making me more feel guilty but either this or her life. I placed the knife on the floor for a short while in order to braid her long hair so that I could cut it in a single rapid move with the knife. Before I began, I took a long, deep breath in silence. Her short, uneven hair flowed down to the length of her auricle, which is where her ear is located. I took a step back and dropped the knife, as well as her braided hair that had been cut out, on the floor. Charles let out an annoyed chuckle as It took me awhile to be able to do it. "Now leave."