How To Fix A Switchblade Novels & Stories

I gasped for air, staggering forward, my eyeglasses knocked crooked against my cheek. But the third man was already moving. He blocked my path to the glass doors, his face twisted in a vicious, enraged scowl as he realized their clean abduction had turned into a bloody brawl. With a low curse, his hand dipped into his jacket. The metallic shhhk of a switchblade echoed in the quiet garden, the long, polished steel gleaming wickedly under the starlight. He braced his weight, lifting the weapon, preparing to lunge and drive the blade into my shoulder to disable me.

But the blade didn't slide through the soft wood, only the butt hit the target instead of the edge. A moment of silence swept the space. Disappointed in herself and scared at the same time since her teacher will probably scold her, Mxaine bit her lower lip and shut her eyes. 'Darn it!' she shouted inwardly. She was so ready to hear Dwight’s complaint. She was used to hearing his nags. Maxine planned to let it in through her right ear and out of her left. But… "I told you that you shouldn't firmly grip the blade because it will hamper your release and the knife will fly out of your hand prematurely," Dwight said with a sweet baritone voice.

She takes the dagger and looks at it. “We need to go eat.” Before they go to eat, Henry tells her, “That dagger is special. If you press the small recess in its hilt, two additional blades pop out, making it into a small trident. Hook your enemy’s blade and deflect it and allow his own forward motion to be used in your kill stroke. Just like I used yours to attack your shirt.” “Thank you, I will remember that.” They finish up the swords and quickly grab some fruit for lunch and head back to the training field for the next part of their training that day.

Not that I care. I hold out my left hand for a shake. He stares at my hand in confusion and then shakes it begrudgingly. In one quick, fluid motion, I tighten my grip on his hand, turn his hand over and with my right hand, slice the pad of his thumb with my blade. I then quickly press his thumb down onto the card leaving a bloody thumbprint behind.

It was not perfect, but it was closer. He watched me. "Better. Do it again." I did. And again. And again. After a while, he stepped closer. He adjusted my stance, his hand firm on my shoulder. "Your feet are too close together. You need proper balance." I shifted my weight, but he did not move his hand. "Now swing," he said. I did. The motion was smoother than before and the blade felt lighter. "Good," he said, then stepped back. I lowered the sword. "How do I know if I'm doing it right?"

Unless of course he's keeping his options open. The wolf spins, lunging again, but this time I’m ready. I roll forward, my fingers finding the switchblade in the duffle bag. The blade flicks open with a sharp click, and as the wolf comes at me, I thrust upward. The blade grazes its shoulder, not deep enough to wound but enough to make it yelp and back off. My chest heaves as I scramble to my feet, gripping the knife tightly. My hands tremble, but I force myself to stay steady. I'm not helpless.

My hand flies to my chest, tucking under my bra, grabbing my mother’s switch blade. I yank it down to my side, my hand trembling as I flick it open. Then, steeling myself, I scream as loud as I can and whip my hand up, aiming the blade directly for the side of Lippert’s neck.

"I beat your buddy senseless without a weapon. You wanna see what happens when I've got one?" I brandished the switchblade and took a step forward, my stance wild and ready. The man screamed, hauled his unconscious friend up, and bolted out of the room. I slammed the door shut and barricaded it with anything I could find. Once the danger passed, my legs gave out. I dropped to the floor and breathed hard as the adrenaline drained from my veins. "God, that was close! Lucky for me, that guy didn't know how to use a switchblade…" I muttered.

We just passed the 12 weeks mark. “Rissa and Gabe will help you practice and get used to it.” I just nodded and pulled the knife from its sheath. It was beautiful in its own deadly way. I didn’t know shit about knives, but I was sure you can kill pretty easily with a blade like this. “The blade is a high density silver alloy, so don’t cut yourself,” Gabriel chimed in. “I won’t.” I gave him an offended look as I put the blade back and closed the box on it.

I get up on my knees and turn my back to him, folding my legs. I hear the rustling of fabrics as he takes off his jacket, throwing the thick leather next to me onto the bed. LeBlanc grabs the strap of the satin blouse I'm wearing. He uses the switchblade to cut it. It's all happening so slowly, but at the same time, fast enough that my mind can't process it. He cuts off the second suspender, then the shirt falls apart, puckering at my waist.