Torn Novels & Stories

I moved past them to his torso and my fingers were shaking as I grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt and lifted. My breath stopped in my throat. The flesh there was torn open and ragged and deep. One of the rifle rounds had ripped into him and taken a chunk of him with it. I stared at it for too long. At the torn muscle and at the blood still welling up and running down his side. My stomach turned over. I looked away and forced myself to breathe through my nose until the nausea passed. “I need to treat this.” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “I need better positioning. Can you move?”

The doorknob turned. My breath caught in my throat. The door creaked open. And there he was. Adrian. I rushed toward him— Only to stop abruptly. He wasn’t the Adrian who left this morning. His shirt was torn, blood-streaked and clinging to his skin. A deep gash split across his temple, dried blood trailing into his brow. One eye was beginning to swell, purple blooming beneath the skin. His knuckles were raw, the skin split. He looked like he’d been through hell—and lost a piece of himself in it.

Standing over her, holding the scalpel in his hands, he gently sliced her chest open. Loretta let out a soft, inaudible gasp as T-Murek tore through her skin, her hands shaking as the blade travelled down her stomach slowly and painfully. T-Murek dragged the blade to tear through her skin, stopping just above her belly button. Then he pushed his fingers through her chest, reaching for her heart. Blood trickled from her chest as his hands travelled deeper. Her eyes were wider than ever as pain tore through every nerve in her body.

When I looked down at him, beads of sweat were forming on his brow. “Fuck,” he growled quietly. “You’re wet.” His eyes fell closed and he seemed to be waging the same internal battle I was. I glanced down at his lap and could see him straining against the smooth fabric of his pants. Without opening his eyes, he withdrew his finger and fisted the thin lace of my panties in his hand. He was shaking as he looked up at me, fury clear in his expression. In one quick movement, he tore them off, the rip of the fabric echoing in the silence.

Immediately after I tore the letter, I witnessed another encounter I would never have accepted to be existing in a seminary. The young man brought out a sharp pen knife and insisted he will give me a mark that the pain will push me to the wall and then will help fasten my decision towards the unsolicited invitation. Not long he finished his words and he used the knife on me my back as I escaped his first attempt of his. The agony and pain then led me to fling my fist on him and that was how he got the injury having hit his face on one of the springs. There was silence all over the hall as Daniel ended his words with a question.

I was almost expecting it. "Damn it, Turo! You're just slowing me down." I ripped another section of my shirt off. Wrapped the slim ribbon of cotton over the burning wound on the outer edge of my thigh. "Do you at least have a needle and thread?" He smiled widely this time. "I've got one better for you." He pulled his phone out. Hit a couple buttons. "I need a patch job."

Now that he was finally letting go of this trauma, this wound of eight years ago to heal, lifer has already gifted him another one to hold onto. The following evening, a worried Jordan looked at Devlin who was sitting on the footsteps outside the house, deep in thought. His hair were all ruffled on his head, as if he had spent all his night sweeping his hands distractedly through them. His grey once glittering eyes were now all stormy and gloomy. His jaws and face were all taut with tension and pain. Jordan sighed inward, regretfully. My Devlin is broken more that he already was, he thought sadly. He cleared his throat.

"I'm Sorry" "Why're you sorry?" "Is my fault why Spooky and Braxton did that to you" Tornado said. "Is not your fault that Spooky likes you and she treated me badly thinking I am trying to steal you from her, is my fault for being weak". Tornado looks at her with pity eyes. "Don't look at me that way Tornado, I told you I hate it when people look at me that way" She said and Tornado smiles. "Sorry" He muttered

Without thinking, she wrung her hands in her blood-soaked apron as she appeared at the scene. Malia and Lemuel were already at Dolf's side, where deep wounds marred his upper body, his torn dress shirt revealing the extent of his injuries. He was losing so much blood, Jenny thought, while Lemuel desperately tried to staunch the flow, but the wounds were too numerous.

Thorne’s limbs twitched, his claws extending and retracting. He spasmed again, clutching his injured ribs and accidentally tearing the wound open with his extended claws. Blood gushed hotly. Ragnar snatched the arm to keep him from impaling himself, but Thorne’s wild motions swiped the claws across Ragnar’s forearm, tearing it open to the bone. “Argh!” Ragnar screamed, blood pouring from his arm. He hissed through his teeth and slammed his knee down on Thorne’s elbow, pinning the wayward arm with his uninjured one. “Hold still, dammit!”