You Are The Knife I Turn Inside Myself Novels & Stories

It seemed to devour the light and drain the life out of anything that entered. "I will cut you for every misstep." Samael snapped at me, harshly grabbing my hand that still held the knife. Before I realized what my brain had decided to do, I turned the knife inward and cut my own arm with one swift motion. I had a high threshold for pain, and a single cut meant nothing to me. Even as the blood immediately welled up, I felt nothing.

Like that kid again. I grip the counter, knuckles whitening. My brothers. If Ryker, Kaid, Thane were here… if they were standing beside me… this wouldn’t crush me. We’ve always held each other together. Always. But now? I glance at the knife lying by the sink. My fingers curl around it, trembling, the cool steel grounding me for a heartbeat. The thought slithers in—one slice, one cut, bleed this poison out. I raise it to my arm.

The space in the room and outside is only separated by a layer of glass, but like two worlds, I can no longer hear the sound of rain or wind, but this quiet space makes me panic even more. I glanced over at Vincent, who was still fast asleep. I raised my hand, wanting to touch his face, but immediately pulled it back. My eyes flashed murderous intent; I reached down to my pillow and took out a shiny fruit knife. I hid it there before Vincent came back, and right here, this knife will go down his neck, taking his life. "If you are to blame, blame your nature for being too cruel. Don't blame others for being heartless." I whispered in my throat.

I sings solemnly, writhing out my pains as I tightly wrapped my fingers around the table knife within my grasp. One thing is certain with this knife, I'm going to cut my wrists and bleed for four hours, if I come out alive. I'm the chosen Messiah to finished Damien but if I died then I've been worthless eversince from birth. I'm of no difference between a cur and a dirty pig. "Hump..." The grunting sounds emanates from my lips and like a rainfall, my blood sprinkle on the linoleum. I rolled my eyes, tears dropping from them. I whirled around and within a blink I threw myself up and fall on the hard floor.

I saw it coming too late. Her strike hit my wrist. Hard. I wasn't expecting it. The knife flew from my grip. And at that moment, time slowed. I watched the knife spin through the air, end over end, catching the light as it fell. And then— Something inside me snapped awake. Something Bright. Sudden. Alive! It surged through my chest like a second heartbeat, spreading through my veins, lighting something deep within me I hadn’t felt since that night in the forest. Since everything changed.

I whispered, though the words felt like ash in my mouth. “And yet, she is gone,” Libra stepped into my line of sight, her eyes reflecting the flickering shadows. “You have the blade. You have the right. Why leave his soul to Allah when you can take it yourself? Feed the hunger, little bird. End the cycle by becoming the end of him.” I see the knife in my hand. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s there, and it feels right. I raise it, and in that moment, I know what I have to do.

I said evenly, keeping my eyes ahead. "Oh, we're feeling real sick all of a sudden." My hand slipped into my coat, fingers curling around the small pocketknife I always kept tucked inside. My pulse thundered in my ears. I'd seen what desperation looked like in the eyes of men who thought you were soft, weak, alone. I wasn't soft. Not anymore. But I was alone. They stepped closer. I took one step back. And then—a blur of motion. A thud. A grunt. The sickening sound of bone meeting something solid.

My chest heaved heavily and I clutched the knife tighter. I was done, done being disrespected. “Make me.”

"But....if choke the power with something.....maybe divert it back towards my internal organs and keep it busy...." Refusing to acknowledge what he was thinking or even what he was about to do to himself. Brandon snatched up the knife and ignoring the food beside him all together. He raised the blade sat it to his skin and pressed the handle of the blade into his side until he couldn't push it into himself any harder. He hesitated, closed his eyes and slammed the knife across his side as hard and as deep as he could. Wet meaty thunks followed as he beat the stiches and his guts all about from the outside.

“You only need to decide which version of yourself deserves to live.” The blade in her hand pulsed, Not with Ashen. With herself. Her real self. And she rose, Not screaming, Not weeping. Just knowing. She slashed the Inkblade through the air, Not at Kael, Not at Liolai. At the possibility itself, The world roared, Everything flickered. The creature’s scream was silent, And then, Nothing.