Your Words Cut Deeper Than Any Blade Novels & Stories

As the faint sound of me slicing through the bone and his screams of anguish intertwine, blood begins to spurt from his wound. It's like a beautiful symphony being composed by me. The finger falls to the ground with a gentle thud, and I twist my foot as I step on it, crushing it. "You savage mother fucker!" He cries out, as I wipe the bloodstained blade on his shirt.

The edge of the blade lay so close to my already wounded wrist but a little more pressure would just slit through an artery. My fingers shook. I hesitated, listening to my shortened, raspy breaths. Why couldn't I do this? Even if I'm gone forever nobody in this fucking world is going to miss me. I threw the razor blade across the tiled floor and cussed. I was a coward, too afraid to know what awaits me at the other side. No, I wasn't. I was only a coward if I couldn't stand strong and fight with what's left of my life. Dirty.

“Or late. Depending on how you count time.” I signed: “I need something quieter than steel. Louder than words.” My fingers moved with slow, deliberate grace, slicing through the air as though I were carving the truth into the silence itself. This wasn’t a request for a weapon—it was a prayer, a demand, a statement of purpose. I wasn’t asking for a blade to kill. I was asking for a symbol to speak where my voice had been stolen. Words had been stripped from me, twisted or ignored. Steel, though sharp, often spoke in screams.

My heart raced as he kept his focus fixated on the task at hand, oblivious to my presence. "Hiding in the shadows can sap your power, for the brave do not seek sanctuary in concealment," he said, his words bearing the weight of experience. Every stroke of his cloth seemed to carry a deeper significance, a figurative dance with the blade that alluded to the complexities of his soul.

” The razor-edged blade looked so sharp, the sides were so silvery compared to the other sides of the blade from intense sharpening. "No, no, That isn't right Mr Ruben, you considered me important enough to honor my invitation, You can't throw me out like used laundry like this. ” Mr. Williams cried, enduring the gnawing all over his body, he moved further backwards until his head hit the cold wall. Doom spelt in his heart and his face was drained of all colors as the bodyguard moved forward and Ruben moved farther away to avoid blood splitter.

Every time I see her in there, looking back at me with so much disappointment. My throat constricts, and I have to fight the urge to clutch my gut. She knows how to make me bleed. With a look. A killing little look. A word. A sentence. ‘I don’t need you anymore’ her own words that ripped out the last pieces of my heart and trampled them to dust when I faced her last night. Only Sophs could make those five words a more effective weapon than any manmade tool fit for the purpose.

If I could, I would go back and do everything differently. But life is like that, it is not like a book that the author can erase what he doesn't like. We need to think twice before we say something, after all, words hurt more than anything, and after they come out of our mouths there is no way to change them, only to accept the consequences they may bring. Our words hurt more than a sharp knife, after all that pain stays for a long time. Unfortunately, I learned this in the worst possible way. I was not hurt by the words of someone important, but I hurt a very special person by them.

Fire should hurt. Shadow should choke. Light should blind. But when you’ve lost enough, when the world has taken everything and left you with nothing but a name and a wound— You stop fearing the burn. You let it eat you. I thought I knew what it meant to hurt. I thought I knew what it meant to fight. I was wrong. The blade isn’t steel anymore. It’s a sun turned inside out, a god screaming in the shape of a weapon, and it’s inside me, burning me from marrow to soul—

“So… you’re actually worth my time.” One of the wolves leap, heavy sharpened claws colliding with my blade. I spin, pressure crackling down my sword, and cutting clean through him. If you are prepared to kill someone you should be prepared to die for it. My blade carves across his throat, severing it in a single fluid motion. Hot blood sprays across the garden stones, steaming in the night air. He collapses without a sound. “One down,” I mutter, but there’s no time to breathe.

The sharp sound echoed inside the home, and blood trickled from the corner of my lips. She screeched, "How dare you interrupt when an elder is speaking! Is that how your parents raised you? Besides, am I wrong? Chuck would never have fallen for someone like you if you didn't seduce him!"