Sharp Objects Novels & Stories

The soldiers have let go of their guns. Those who have swords are gripping them at their sides; the rest are holding their spears flat along the ground. For one of the few times in my life, I wish I had a sword instead of a machete. My blade’s lack of a point renders it useless for this particular defense, so I leave it sheathed on my back. Instead, I grip my new spear tightly.

SCHWING. It wasn't a flashy display. There were no golden lights or roaring dragons. It was a single, terrifyingly complete arc—the blade leaving the scabbard and completing its stroke in a fraction of a millisecond. Internal energy didn't just flow into the steel; it condensed at the razor-thin edge in the absolute final millimeter of the draw. The atmosphere split. A hairline fracture of displaced air zipped across the dark earth. Ten meters ahead, a clean, silent trench opened in the soil, the edges glowing faintly from sheer kinetic friction.

The sound of the gunshot echoed in Olivia’s ears, loud and piercing, as though the cabin itself had recoiled in shock. She froze, unable to process what had just happened. Her eyes locked on Leo as he staggers backward, his hand holding his side where blood comes out through his shirt. But Leo didn’t fall. With a wild growl, he pushed forward, his grip on the knife tightens. His eyes burned with rage, the kind of madness that ignored pain and reason.

The anger, the regret, the anxiety, the emotional and mental tiredness. I kept the water running and then searched the bathroom for something to use as a weapon. I needed something that would weaken him immediately, because trust me, I did not know how to fight or could even defend myself well. Then my eyes landed on the small knife that men normally use for shaving. I think it’s called a straight razor or a cut-throat razor. The only reason I even knew the name was because of Chris. It was perfect. I knew for a fact that it was very sharp and every time that Chris would use it to shave, I would have so much anxiety.

I needed a weapon, and I needed it right fucking now. My gaze landed on Allie’s heavy canvas nursing tote bag sitting on the back of the toilet. I lunged for it, my good hand tearing through the pockets until my fingers wrapped around the cold, heavy steel of her medical trauma shears. They were designed to cut through seatbelts and thick leather, and the serrated edge was razor-sharp. I gripped the shears in my right hand, my knuckles turning white, and pressed my back flat against the tiled wall right behind the bathroom door.

Brutal, effective, designed to take on multiple opponents and survive, if somewhat worse for wear. Also he gave me a knife, which seemed irresponsible even to me, a violent juvenile delinquent. It wasn't l like a Bowie knife either, or a survival knife. It was straight, double-edged, with a wickedly sharp point. He called it a "Fairbarn". Later I'd learn that the skills he taught me dated back to world war two. I've never been able to get Billy to tell me where he learned it.

His available tools were: [Small Tempered crystal ax] Attack +1 Defense +1 [Small Tempered crystal Pickaxe] Attack +1 Defense +1 [Small Tempered crystal knife] Attack +2 [Small Tempered Crystal scissors] Attack +1 [Tempered Crystal ax] Attack +5 Defense +2 Agility +1

The white-haired and white-browed young man had unsheathed his long sword. It was a strange long sword that was as clear as jade. One flank of the sword was the cutting edge, and the other flank was a sharp sawteeth-shaped edge. The blade was long and narrow, and it looked like a beam of silver light when it shook. Every time it shook, a beam of light shot out from it like a fierce tiger coming out of a box. Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

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 asked as I suddenly felt nervous "Don't worry, you work hurt me" "How do you know that? I might do it accidentally, and isn't it better to work with a blunt knife or something not so sharp, cause I don't think this is a good idea?" " It's better to start with a sharp knife, I have folded you, you have great potential, and starting off the gun with what you would face in light of an attack is better than using something blunt, and you won't hurt me because I am too quick for you to catch," he said