SlasherVictim
Forum Regular
Before you read the story is written in the first person form your point of view.
So you might want to see the following link too see what the kid looks like in the story:
http://blog.awma.com/wp-content/upl...0409237165_4641406684988786753_o-1024x682.jpg
and
http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t5...ig_cache_key=MTI3NDgzNTAwOTg5Njk1MjQ4MQ==.2.c
Trust me you would not want to fuck with this kid!
Also there is no sexual content in this one as it involves a youth, just an epic death scene for the reader to experience.
An Easy Job:
You're not sure if it's the cold night air that's making your spine tingle or the anticipation. You lick your lips and crouch down, pulling your ski mask over your head. It's just going to be a quick job. In. Wreck the place. Steal some files. Out.
Its part of a long standing dojo rivalry, and five years ago you wouldn't even have considered it. You would have been too proud. You would have had too much honor. That pride disappeared when they kicked you out. So what if you diddled the landlord's daughter a little bit? It's not like she didn't want it. It was mutual. How the fuck were you supposed to know she was fourteen?
You grin, slipping your ski mask over your face. You know the only thing you're going to regret is not being able to see the look on their faces when they see the Dojang in crumbles and all of their weapons missing. You lick your lips and reach into your cargo pocket, producing a small crowbar. It won't have nearly as much leverage as a larger one, but you're sure it'll do the trick.
The frosted grass crunches beneath your shoes as you quickly jog over to the door. You crouch back down and slip the crowbar between the door and door frame, pulling it back toward you. After a deep breath you quickly slam it forward, shattering the side of the door and allowing you entry. Bingo.
So far, so good. You nearly stop to pat yourself on the back, but you're interrupted by a clattering in the next room.
"Yah!" You hear a high pitched voice shout. Oh, shit. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here at this time of night. "Ki-yah!" And that's a ki'hap. Someone is here training. You hear the sound of wood smack into the ground, sending a loud, reverberating clatter throughout the Dojang.
Actually, there was something about that voice that sounded feminine. You smirk, tightening your grip on your crowbar. Whoever it is hasn't noticed yet, and this is the chance of a lifetime. Before it even has a chance to come back to you, you'll be halfway across the country with the money you'll make off this job, so whats the harm in indulging a little bit?
Creeping over to the sliding door of the actual training room, you crack it and peek in. Your smile widens as you see who it is who's training. The Grandmaster's 12 year old son. Heh. No wonder it sounded like a chick. The little gook's balls haven't even dropped yet. Hell, he looks like a short haired little Asian girl. As your eyes scan his lithe body, you almost feel ashamed of the shiver it sends down your spine. Almost.
He yells again as he spins, the bo staff he's training with slicing through the air. It collides with the ground and let's off the thunderous crack you heard earlier. He freezes, holding his position as you slide the door the rest of the way open, smirking as you slip your hands into your pockets. In one fluid motion, he spins the staff into a resting position beneath his arm.
"A little late to be twirling your stick around, eh, kiddo?" you ask, playing around with the crowbar in your pocket. He doesn't even look at you as you approach him. "What? You speak English, don't you? Here, I'll slow it down for you. What. Are. You. Doing. Here. So. Late? Ching Chong chiddy chang?"
You laugh, walking behind him. "Maybe someone should teach you a lesson," You say, lightly running your finger through his hair. He shudders, but doesn't move. You feel your face grow hot and grit your teeth. Who does this little fuck think he is? You tighten your grip on his hair, yanking his head back.
"Say something you little fucking-" in one swift movement he pulls away from you and spins his staff, cracking it against your knees. You cry out in pain and fall to your knees, hurting them even worse.
"What the hell, kid?" You bite back tears and try to stand up again. You're stopped when you feel a heavy thud against the side of your head, sending you back to the ground.
Your head explodes in pain and your vision darkens. The room seems to spin around you. You barely see him unsheath a short wakizashi from his side as he steps up toward you. You try to scoot back, but hit a wall.
"No. Please, man. I didn't mean any harm by it." You put your hands up to shield yourself, but it doesn't help.
Your vision returns to normal in time to see the gleaming blade lunge toward your stomach. A sharp pain shoots through your body as it slides cleanly into you. You cough and a warm, metallic taste invades your mouth.
"Oh god," you sputter. "Pull it out! Pull it-" your eyes meet his and he lifts the blade, cutting through your stomach, only stopping when he hits your bone. You yell out, weakly grabbing at the blade to try to slip it out of your stomach. He twists it sideways and you actually feel it scrape against your spine.
He reaches out with his free hand and slips his fingers under your mask, peeling it off of your face. His gaze snaps away from you as he sees your face, clearly recognizing you. He looks back at you, wrinkling his nose, and takes a deep breath in through his nostrils. He swishes something around his mouth for a moment before spitting a large glob of phlegm onto your face.
You cringe as he slips the sword out of you and fall to your hands. A wet thud echoes in your mind and your head spins. Your head droops and you make the mistake of looking at your stomach to assess your wounds. Maybe you can still get out of this.
Your last thread of hope dies when you see your intestines hanging out of your gaping stomach, splayed across the floor like giant parasitic worms. You heave and vomit onto the floor, causing the kid to take a step back. It splatters, spreading all over your hands, but it won’t stop coming. The sickening sour scent of bile is all you can smell. The shadows of the dojang, blurred through your tears, is all you can see. And finally, the kid’s quiet chuckle is the only thing you can hear. Your face explodes in pain as you feel his shoe connect with your nose, letting off a gut wrenching crack. You fall backwards and land on your side, unable to move. You feel your blood running across your mouth and flowing down your sinuses, but you can’t move enough to wipe it away.
His bare feet almost soundlessly glide across the hardwood floor as he steps up to you and you feel the sole of his foot press into your adam’s apple, cutting off your already sputtering breath. He lifts his foot slightly before stomping down on your throat, crushing your trachea. The edges of your vision blur and for a moment the pain is unbearable. In seconds, though, everything goes dark.
***
The kid looks down on your body and smirks. He swipes his wakizashi through the air, flicking off the bit of blood that congealed on the blade before wiping it along his pants and sheathing it. He’d have to bleach both later. For now, though, it was the matter of your body. You were a little big to drag away and dump. He sighs, walking to the weapons room. They’re always such a pain to cut apart first. Hopefully the swords are sharp this time.
So you might want to see the following link too see what the kid looks like in the story:
http://blog.awma.com/wp-content/upl...0409237165_4641406684988786753_o-1024x682.jpg
and
http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t5...ig_cache_key=MTI3NDgzNTAwOTg5Njk1MjQ4MQ==.2.c
Trust me you would not want to fuck with this kid!
Also there is no sexual content in this one as it involves a youth, just an epic death scene for the reader to experience.
An Easy Job:
You're not sure if it's the cold night air that's making your spine tingle or the anticipation. You lick your lips and crouch down, pulling your ski mask over your head. It's just going to be a quick job. In. Wreck the place. Steal some files. Out.
Its part of a long standing dojo rivalry, and five years ago you wouldn't even have considered it. You would have been too proud. You would have had too much honor. That pride disappeared when they kicked you out. So what if you diddled the landlord's daughter a little bit? It's not like she didn't want it. It was mutual. How the fuck were you supposed to know she was fourteen?
You grin, slipping your ski mask over your face. You know the only thing you're going to regret is not being able to see the look on their faces when they see the Dojang in crumbles and all of their weapons missing. You lick your lips and reach into your cargo pocket, producing a small crowbar. It won't have nearly as much leverage as a larger one, but you're sure it'll do the trick.
The frosted grass crunches beneath your shoes as you quickly jog over to the door. You crouch back down and slip the crowbar between the door and door frame, pulling it back toward you. After a deep breath you quickly slam it forward, shattering the side of the door and allowing you entry. Bingo.
So far, so good. You nearly stop to pat yourself on the back, but you're interrupted by a clattering in the next room.
"Yah!" You hear a high pitched voice shout. Oh, shit. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here at this time of night. "Ki-yah!" And that's a ki'hap. Someone is here training. You hear the sound of wood smack into the ground, sending a loud, reverberating clatter throughout the Dojang.
Actually, there was something about that voice that sounded feminine. You smirk, tightening your grip on your crowbar. Whoever it is hasn't noticed yet, and this is the chance of a lifetime. Before it even has a chance to come back to you, you'll be halfway across the country with the money you'll make off this job, so whats the harm in indulging a little bit?
Creeping over to the sliding door of the actual training room, you crack it and peek in. Your smile widens as you see who it is who's training. The Grandmaster's 12 year old son. Heh. No wonder it sounded like a chick. The little gook's balls haven't even dropped yet. Hell, he looks like a short haired little Asian girl. As your eyes scan his lithe body, you almost feel ashamed of the shiver it sends down your spine. Almost.
He yells again as he spins, the bo staff he's training with slicing through the air. It collides with the ground and let's off the thunderous crack you heard earlier. He freezes, holding his position as you slide the door the rest of the way open, smirking as you slip your hands into your pockets. In one fluid motion, he spins the staff into a resting position beneath his arm.
"A little late to be twirling your stick around, eh, kiddo?" you ask, playing around with the crowbar in your pocket. He doesn't even look at you as you approach him. "What? You speak English, don't you? Here, I'll slow it down for you. What. Are. You. Doing. Here. So. Late? Ching Chong chiddy chang?"
You laugh, walking behind him. "Maybe someone should teach you a lesson," You say, lightly running your finger through his hair. He shudders, but doesn't move. You feel your face grow hot and grit your teeth. Who does this little fuck think he is? You tighten your grip on his hair, yanking his head back.
"Say something you little fucking-" in one swift movement he pulls away from you and spins his staff, cracking it against your knees. You cry out in pain and fall to your knees, hurting them even worse.
"What the hell, kid?" You bite back tears and try to stand up again. You're stopped when you feel a heavy thud against the side of your head, sending you back to the ground.
Your head explodes in pain and your vision darkens. The room seems to spin around you. You barely see him unsheath a short wakizashi from his side as he steps up toward you. You try to scoot back, but hit a wall.
"No. Please, man. I didn't mean any harm by it." You put your hands up to shield yourself, but it doesn't help.
Your vision returns to normal in time to see the gleaming blade lunge toward your stomach. A sharp pain shoots through your body as it slides cleanly into you. You cough and a warm, metallic taste invades your mouth.
"Oh god," you sputter. "Pull it out! Pull it-" your eyes meet his and he lifts the blade, cutting through your stomach, only stopping when he hits your bone. You yell out, weakly grabbing at the blade to try to slip it out of your stomach. He twists it sideways and you actually feel it scrape against your spine.
He reaches out with his free hand and slips his fingers under your mask, peeling it off of your face. His gaze snaps away from you as he sees your face, clearly recognizing you. He looks back at you, wrinkling his nose, and takes a deep breath in through his nostrils. He swishes something around his mouth for a moment before spitting a large glob of phlegm onto your face.
You cringe as he slips the sword out of you and fall to your hands. A wet thud echoes in your mind and your head spins. Your head droops and you make the mistake of looking at your stomach to assess your wounds. Maybe you can still get out of this.
Your last thread of hope dies when you see your intestines hanging out of your gaping stomach, splayed across the floor like giant parasitic worms. You heave and vomit onto the floor, causing the kid to take a step back. It splatters, spreading all over your hands, but it won’t stop coming. The sickening sour scent of bile is all you can smell. The shadows of the dojang, blurred through your tears, is all you can see. And finally, the kid’s quiet chuckle is the only thing you can hear. Your face explodes in pain as you feel his shoe connect with your nose, letting off a gut wrenching crack. You fall backwards and land on your side, unable to move. You feel your blood running across your mouth and flowing down your sinuses, but you can’t move enough to wipe it away.
His bare feet almost soundlessly glide across the hardwood floor as he steps up to you and you feel the sole of his foot press into your adam’s apple, cutting off your already sputtering breath. He lifts his foot slightly before stomping down on your throat, crushing your trachea. The edges of your vision blur and for a moment the pain is unbearable. In seconds, though, everything goes dark.
***
The kid looks down on your body and smirks. He swipes his wakizashi through the air, flicking off the bit of blood that congealed on the blade before wiping it along his pants and sheathing it. He’d have to bleach both later. For now, though, it was the matter of your body. You were a little big to drag away and dump. He sighs, walking to the weapons room. They’re always such a pain to cut apart first. Hopefully the swords are sharp this time.
