A Knife Fight

We were at a dinner. My wife and I. I had on a black tuxedo with a royal purple bow tie. She had on a lilac dress that flashed silver underneath its seams when she moved. It was dazzling. I had noticed a man keeping his eyes on my movements. Watching me closely. He was a short man with a strong build. Maybe russian or Czech. I looked at his waist and saw the imprint of a .45 Glock. It must have been his first kill. I could see the hesitation in his eyes. He stood up. Walking from the bar to a group of men. His superiors maybe? He turned around stuffing his hand into his jacked. I stepped back grabbing my wife amd directing her to the door. He pulled out a Stilletto switchblade and stabbed a lady in the neck several times before pulling her hair and throwing her dying carcass to the floor. A little girl saw this and screamed. Suddenly all eyes were on the dead woman drowning in a pool of her own blood. Panic raped the air as everyone began running to the main exit. The man rushed towards me. Stabbing anyone in his way. He was slashing at me before i could draw my Kershaw Fixed Blade. I evaded his slashes. My bow tie fell to the grown. He snarled at me. I smiled. Assessing and scanning for a more advantageous location. There wasn’t one.

He continued to slash at me as I continued to evade. He grazed my forearm with his knife. I was cut. A small laceration to my forearm meant i would need to be more careful keeping an eye on the blade. This was not the time to fuck up. I fell back into my stance my left forarm bleeding. I drew my knife.

Seeing my blood painted a sinsiter grimace over his face. This must have been his favourite part of the kill. I held my knife in saber grip with my weapon side leading. I had reach on him, but that also meant I would need to retract my movements quickly. I pivoted my rear foot delivering a back hand slash. He deflected it. I smiled again grabbing onto his left tricep and pulling him in close as I slashed across his abdomen. I heard my knife rip through his flesh. He immediately grabbed his stomach. Now breathing heavily he lunged at me with everything he had. His movements telegraphed his techniques sloppy. He was dying. The more he flailed the more blood he lossed and the harder he breathed. He dropped his knife. I burried mine into his groin. I killed his masculinity. I sheathed my knife. He dropped to his knees holding his groin. He needed an ambulance or he would bleed out within the hour. I picked up my bow tie, sighed, and walked put of the door. I hadnt even gotten cake.

poeticreveries

24 reads

Ops

he pulled out his knife, a K-Bar. i recognized the emblem on the hilt he was Special Forces.

he lunged forward with an open sided slash myself being trained in CQB [Close Quarter Battle] deflected the slash then returning a right cross to his heavy jaw. he was not phased.

i drew my knife. it was time to have some fun.

He attacked again with an open slash this time i passed his blade across my frame while delivering a slice to his wrist. one i said. he grabbed the wound blood dripping from his arm. The air stained with the smell of crimson. He attacked again, this time more carefully. he switched to reverse grip and began delivering a flury of jabs, crosses, slashes and stabs. his training had kicked in. I took a few blows knocking me back out of his blade's range. i pulled my carbon steel baton. he stepped forward with a stab to my abdomen this time i struck his hand with my baton. he dropped the knife. then i smashed the baton into the side of his skull. he stammered dropping to his knees. i kneed him to the ground. Panting, he went to draw his pistol but my knife was already at his neck. "on your chest" I commanded smashing his calf muscle with the baton. he chose to draw. i carved out his adams apple. it started raining

poeticreveries

20 reads

A Tall Tale

This was genocide. His wife laid there motionless, dead in her bed like a marionette doll with a bullet happily buried into her skull.

You could smell the gun residue staining the air around silk lavender sheets drenched in a lover's quarrel. Her body laid there skull pouring like a fountain onto white lavished carpet. You could pour a full wine glass with her blood.

Staring at her corpse he picked up his .45

The gun was heavy in his hand as stalked his way down the long hallway. The walls had stories to tell. Memories of him and his family. His four year old daughter, Raine, his eight year old son, Elijah and now his late wife, Rachel. He peeked into his daughters room and took a deep breath. His eyes razor blades cutting through to where her body lay. He stalked her with eyes seduced by murder. Breath panting like a rabid hound thirsty to sick the barrel of his beloved into the skeleton of his baby girl. First he sat down in her rocking chair carving his fingers into a gun. He was ready. He loaded his love with a single bullet. He walked grimly up to his daughter. She was awake.

"Papa?" She said her blue eyes gazing up at the barrel of his gun.

"You're not my daughter." He said pulling the trigger.

She painted the wall behind her. The room falling to the sound of death as her decapitated body fell like rain.

He sighed satisfied and smiled a cheshire cat's grin walking away from a virgin corpse caressing his gun.

He walked down the hall into a blue room of wonder. Toy cars scattered the floor, posters of super heroes painted the wall. His son was not in bed. He breathed and a sinister grin masked his face. As he called out, "Eli... Eli... Don't make me find you. Come out. Papa has a story to tell you." He breathed in again, this time smelling urine he looked down. A trail of fluids stained the carpet leading a path to the closet. He walked out of the room.

The little boy thinking he had been free panicked dashing out the door only to meet the barrel of his gun. A loud shriek escaped Elijas voice as his father beat him with the barrel of his gun. Ripping back flesh with each strike. Finally standing over his broken, beaten, and maimed son he placed his foot on his chest gazing into his son's eyes and said, I loved you most." turning a sad boy into rubble with three gunshot wounds. He sat his gun down next to the carcass of his son and walked back to his daughter's rocking chair. Tired and exhausted, hungry, and fulfilled. He had done the act proudly he thought to himself craving a cigarette. He wasn't a smoker but what was cancer to murder?

He watches her. Closely from the 10th floor. She is on the 3rd floor of the executive building at Google. Her brown long hair luscious in the summer sunlight. Her green eyes piercing and empathetic. They held her heart so beautifully. He smirked pulling out his .50 caliber rifle and setting up the stock. He had chosen to be at the southern side of the hotel approximately 5miles away. He breathed, Relaxing his body and envisioning a clear concise execution of his kill. He breathed out pulling the trigger. The bullet fired from his gun spiraling through the air. Her sandwhich fell. Her head hit the floorm she was dead. Her kids were now orphans and would probably be split up in foster care. He had ruined several lives that day. He smiled. Pulling out a cigarette. He took a drag. The sunset was beautiful from his apartment. They cops would surely have him by sundown. He was okay with that. He had no family to go back to. He had killed them. He pulled out a revolver and loaded all but one round. He put the gun inside his mouth pointing the gun towards his skull. He pulled the trigger. His body fell as the gun hit the floor. He had killed everyone he loved