First Cut Is The Deepest Novels & Stories

“But it was just a slap, I didn’t think...” “Shut up.” The words exploded out of me, and she jumped like she’d been hit. “Just a slap?” I stepped closer, roughly lifting her chin with a finger. “In this world, the first slap is the test. If you take that one, you’ll take the next. And the next. And eventually, they will bury you with the last one.” Her breath shook. “I’m sorry, ma.” I dropped my hand and stepped back, pacing once.

I’m nothing to them and if they knew what I really am, they wouldn’t protect me. The sting of the knife dragging along my arm, straight up the middle, hurts like hell at first, but it quickly fades away the further I dig. A one inch cut doesn’t hurt any more than a seven inch cut. Blood quickly seeps from the wound, thick streams fall from around my arm, pooling off my fingers. I switch hands, I mean it this time.

“Mă tai, te tai de două ori: You cut me, I cut you twice.” ”You’re actually gonna mutilate me right now?” Anateya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew the Mafia was bloody, but this was downright barbaric. “There’ll be no mutilation if you keep still.” His thumb circled a spot between her shoulder and collarbone. Anateya stopped moving when something sharp and cold pressed against her skin. This was happening and there was nothing she could do about it. A lump formed in her throat as the knife broke her skin, leaving behind a searing pain.

When they were done the whole of his gullet was raw and torn and lined with teeth. “Jesus this is fucking hardcore,” said Farshad. “Is this for real?” “Dunno,” said Ashkan. “Ain’t seen this bit before.” “Thought you said you’d watched it all the way through? Twice now.” “I have, I just ain’t seen this bit before. Must be some glitch or something.”

The first blood drawn was from my back. The rogue dig it's filthy claws in my cloth and slashed them across my skin while I was distracted fending of the rest. I stiffened a scream as it's claws tore open my skin, I turned around swiftly, digged into its chest and ripped out it's heart. They only kept on increasing the more I kill.

Going toward the drawers I grab the scissors and start cutting my hair "You think your so fucking special huh" I cry out as I take another strand and cut it off "Well news flash you're not, you're really not you're just sick" I take another strand and cut it off "You're broken" I cut off another strand "You're unlovable" I cut off another strand "You're pathetic" I cut off another strand "And most importantly you're useless ... you're not -you're j-just your- oh my god" I drop the scissors and just sob drop onto floor. Crying I start picking up all the pieces of my hair

The pounding within my head was slowly withering away leaving the dullness behind. Life teach us a lot of things we don't actually know. As we grow, we slowly start to think deeper and deeper. I could hear hustling behind that locked door. Will they ever consider thinking about me? Or was I that worthless? Leaning back, my fingers shot up to my forehead, feeling the dent and a huge scratch. The cracked ridges felt good under my skin. The first ever injury mother caused me. A crazy smile made its way on my face as I scratched the flesh with my nails making it more deeper than before.

Each girl had been found with a bullet hole in the skull. Maryam was still in coma after sustaining multiple blows to the head from a hammer. A scalpel had also been used in performing a Chinese torture of inflicting small painful cuts on her body. It appears the reason The First One tortured his victims was to make sure his identity was safe before killing them. It appears Salamatu Salis had told Maryam something that could reveal his identity.

Crash! It was too late when he realized what he’d done. The tricks and manipulation that's been implanted to him accompanied him as he tried to remember why he tried to escape his building from the 20th floor. But as the ground rapidly came closer to Alana to welcome him to a new realm of fire he’s never seen before, it only then clicked. For a split second, he was almost sure that Caine’s face was down on the ground like a summer waiting for the cold fall. The moment he flatlined was the moment his entire body met the ground flat. No last expressions in his face, no rigor mortis, just his red and white painted in the streets.

“What I want is you.” The first cut was shallow, a line across his chest. Just enough to hurt, just enough to remind him that his body belonged to me now. He screamed. I kept cutting. Twenty minutes later, he had stopped screaming. He just hung there, twitching, making small animal sounds that no longer resembled human language. I had been methodical, precise, every cut deliberate. I was reaching for a different tool when my sleeve brushed against something cold.