Sudden Dent In Thumbnail Novels & Stories

She slumped her tired body on her bed. From the wide opened window, came inside the warm and comforting sunlight gracefully illuminated her whole bedroom. The fresh scent of nature wafted in her direction, and she deeply inhaled the relaxing fragrance. The chirping of the birds almost lulled her back to her sleep. Without warning, a sharp pain shot out from her numb right hand. Thalia winched, and her face contorted into a painful expression. She brought her hand to her face, and her eyes widened. Her thumb is swelling! What is this?!

“Let me see.” “Dahlia—” “Let me see, Sebastian.” He exhales quietly through his nose, not annoyed exactly, but not pleased either, and there’s a brief pause like he’s weighing whether it’s worth arguing. Then he gives in, extending his hand without another word. I take it, turning it slightly toward the light, and it only takes a second to spot the problem. A thin splinter is lodged deep into the pad of his thumb, darker against his skin, the surrounding area already flushed with a small bead of blood gathering at the surface.

DAMIEN. I lay flat on the cold wooden floorboards. My right shoulder hung two inches lower than my left. The joint was completely out of its socket. The muscle throbbed with a steady, intense ache. I needed to fix it immediately. I grabbed the thick fabric of my shirt sleeve between my teeth. I clamped my jaws down hard. I pushed my back flat against the solid oak bed frame to gain leverage. I gripped my injured right wrist with my left hand. I pulled my arm forward and twisted the limb sharply to the left.

"You're sick." I cracked a smile. "Is that supposed to offend me? Because all I hear is a compliment." The Midnight Teeth was a clamp lined with fang-like spikes on the inside. Turning the screw, the jaws opened to rows of tiny, jagged spikes. The drama king writhed on the bed protesting against the weapon. I haven't even touched him yet. "Relax, will you? It's about to get fun." "Damn you!" I clamped the weapon onto his inner thigh, close enough to graze the nerve cluster. The spikes pierced gently at first, until I twisted the mechanism and the clamp tightened.

“Hey, weirdo! Think fast!” Santa spun around instinctively, but the world didn't move as fast as her panic. The basketball struck her like a kinetic weapon, slamming into the delicate space between her mouth and throat. The impact was sickeningly solid—a dull, wet thud that vibrated through her teeth and sent a jarring shock through her spine. It instantly split her lip against her incisors, sending a hot, metallic trickle of blood down her chin.

Goodbye, thumbs. Biting his tongue against the anguish he knew was to come, he banged his hands, thumbs out, into the headboard. Crunch. The bones broke with that very first punch. He sucked in a breath, but, like Grace, he did not mumble a sound. Punch, punch. Each new hit caused even more pain, ripping tendons, tearing muscles, and mashing bone.

My wound was still sore when bending, doctors said it could take months for the pains to settle fully. The drive was silent, Nick tapped his finger lightly on the steering wheel to the music on the radio. I spent most of the time looking out the window watching people in the street as we drove past. We arrived back home in record time. Nick helped me out of the car and tried to keep his hand on my lower back to steady me. I pushed him off as we reached the elevator. As I stepped into the apartment his hand automatically went to my lower back. “I don’t need your help!” I snapped.

Didn't even slow down. Punch. The thumb dislocated with a wet pop. The nail tore off completely, stuck to the tree bark with a piece of meat still attached. Punch. The hand wasn't a hand anymore. It was hamburger with bones sticking out. The pinky finger dangled by a thread of skin. Each impact sprayed blood in a three-foot radius. The breathing came in short, desperate gasps between strikes—not from exertion but from trying not to scream. Punch. The bones in the palm cracked. Not clean breaks but splintering, like stepping on twigs. The hand folded in on itself, fingers pointing in directions fingers shouldn't point. Still punching. Still destroying what was left.

Henry says, drowning out Christopher’s answer. "Yes? What do you mean?" I ask with a frown as I notice the concern on his face; it is only then that the taste of salt and iron fills my mouth. When I pull my thumb from my teeth, my eyes widen. I chewed through my thumb’s nail to the point of bleeding. It didn’t even hurt. “Oh, this? it's just a tiny prick; mummy will put a band-aid and fix it when I get inside.” I smile, hiding the injury by folding my thumb into a fist.

And before he could do anything; I bit his thumb the hardest I could. He yelled in pain, his pained voice filled the room. I could taste the blood that was escaping his now deeply bruised thumb, I kept on biting down harshly until I felt letting go. When I let go of his thumb, it was badly bleeding through my bite; he held his thumb in pain and then glared at me. When he stood up and was close enough, I side kicked his head and he fell to the floor hard; he held his head in pain and winced as he made to much pressure to his abused thumb, I just glared down at him, his blood running down the left corner of my lips.