Blood Bath, Part I

At first, it was a dull pain. It was the kind of pain that you’d feel succeeding a blow to the arm. But, not long after the initial shock, did the heat set in. Heavy irritation became a searing sensation, burning through the flesh the bullet had just caressed. It stung like a bitch, and the pain just got worse.

Michael grit his teeth in agony as it soon spread throughout his whole body. When the bullet had hit, it had snapped a nerve in his right arm, causing it to become paralyzed from the shoulder down. His blood soon stained the surrounding area, and the sight of the singed skin made him gag, a bit of his lunch coming back out his mouth and spilling onto his bare chest.

The gun smoke dissipated to reveal the woman on the other side of a 50 caliber rifle, set neatly upon a tall tripod. She took her eye away from the scope and smiled zestfully at her work. 7 inch heels she wore on her feet clicked at the stained, concrete floor as she paraded toward him. Her hips swayed bewitchingly, seducing Michael to the point of pure fear. The woman’s eyes were heavy, and her red, glossy lips were pursed into a little heart. Long, brunette hair swept down to her tight leather top, which pronounced her many arousing curves.

A small table with a smoking pot set atop it, its contents obscured from Michaels view, sat against the wall. She reached her long, delicate fingers into the steam and pulled out a 4 inch switch blade, the metal glowing red. The sight of it made his stomach leap, and he tried to struggle.

Two tight restraints cuffed each limb, holding him spread eagle against the cold wall. He pushed against them, trying to escape their grasp, his right shoulder throbbing. He cried again.

“Oh, don’t cry, Love. It’ll be alright.” She spoke in an appealing British accent, luring him back into a trance of her beauty. Her expression was that of true sympathy, almost as if she really felt sorry that she had to do this. She put one long leg out in front of her and switched the blade skillfully between both hands, licking her lips as she did so. Her skewed frown of sorrow was now a devilish smile. She neared him.

“Now, Michael, you’ve been a very naughty boy.” She spoke smoothly, her plump lips molding into a sorrowful smile. Her eyes fell to his and she looked at the anxiety they possessed.

“Why are you…?” His voice was broken. He spoke between gasps of air and grunts of pain. His eyes became wet with tears.

“Mm,” he was interrupted by her pinkie finger, which touched his lips and slid down his chin. “Be polite, Michael. You need to be on your best behavior in the presence of a Lady.” She fed off his fear, and it gave her the power to threaten him even more. Her smile became wider as she waved the scalding knife in front of him.  “Now don’t pretend it wasn’t you. I know you did it. And it’s okay. You just need to be punished.” Her index finger tapped his puke-covered chest with every word. She didn’t mind.

The woman casually made her way back to the small table to grab another object that lay next to the pot. When she was again next to him, she held a knife in one hand and a black bandana in another. It was rolled up tightly. She brought the handle of the switchblade to her lips and held it in her teeth to free both hands. The bandana was then put around his neck and tied in the back, providing a loose fit to slide up to his mouth.

Michael cried again. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, no. No, God, no!” She looked at him pathetically.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she remarked through clenched teeth. The woman tightened the knot in the back and began to slide it up, but hesitated. Removing the knife from her mouth, she held it blade first at Michael. “Any last words, Darling?”

Michael breathed heavily from the pain. He knew fairly well what was about to happen. How it was going to happen, he wasn’t definite. But he knew, with certainty, that he was about to die. So, knowing this, what should he say? In this situation, what would be his last words? In his blurry mind, and those last few seconds before the axe came down, he chose his words carefully.

“The one who wields the sword sees its sharpest end.” His eyes met with hers, and he tried to seem a threat to her. He tried to put himself in her path. She dodged his move, now it was her turn.

“Mm. Well, my sweet Michael, I don’t like to think of myself as a sword. No, no.” She tutted him. Her expression became more serious now, and she leaned in closer to him, waving the red-hot blade inches from his neck. He could feel its heat. “I like to think of myself as a snake,” she hissed. She moved the bandana up to his mouth, gagging him silent.


The knife slithered down his neck, the tip of the blade hovering just above his skin, and then stopped directly above where the bullet entered.

“And I can strike…”

She flicked the blade, aiming it at the crimson gash. His heart sped up. He inspected the knife.

“At any…”

Its tip circled the opening like a vulture, eyeballing its prey. He feared her, was truly petrified by her, and she ate it up. The sick, deranged woman was hungry for his angst, and she was getting a filling. However, she was not yet satisfied. Her plan played out just as she had meant it to. She had moved her pawns correctly.

“Moment.” The fiery steel drove into the already singed flesh, filling out the feeling he had left with a brutal burn. It was unlike anything he had felt before, and far from anything he’d feel again. The dried, blood soaked hairs on his arm lit with a smoking flame, burning. Skin surrounding became crisp and brown, bubbling to a 3rd degree. Michael bit firmly on the gag, grunting and wailing through his teeth.

“Gaaaahhh!!!! SHIT!!!” Tears let loose, streaming down his scrunched, rough facial features.

She beamed ecstatically at his reaction, soaking in as much as she could. It gave her a rush, like a high. She loved it, she always had. She was sure to do it again. The blade twisted in her hand, ripping his muscle and widening the wound. He screamed louder.

“Naahhhh!!!! HAAAAHHH!!!” His eyes squeezed shut, the veins in his neck bulging.

Kill me now. Please, God, kill me now!’ he thought.

She proceeded to yank the knife violently out of the wound, pulling the attached flesh with it. The back of her free hand met with his cheek, caressing it softly, reassuringly. She walked slowly away from him, back toward the table, her fingers lingering at his face. Her hand finally pulled away, and she retreated to the table, setting down the bloody, still hot knife.

Looking back, she smiled. She admired herself, what she could do. She stood and watched him. She watched as he withered, as he became weak and limp. With joy, she watched him slowly and painfully die. It thrilled her, made her proud to know that this feeling, and her pleasant essence, were the last things he would know. She had quenched her thirst, and now it was all in the wait. And she smiled.


© Copyright Brendan Swogger 2012

As I said in my most recent Tweet, I haven’t written in a while. It was DEFINITELY time to change that! So, upon this realization, I grabbed my laptop and turned it on. The first thing that popped up was my session from 3 weeks ago. Word lay open to a story I had planned to be a novelette that was started, but not finished. I read it through, trying to rack my brain for the notes I had taken on what I had named ‘Blood Bath’ . I found them, and with it, the motivation to try and finish. I decided it would be too much work to really focus on this as my project, as I also have ‘Cliffview’ to dedicate my time to. My final decision was to post this, Part I, and come back to it and add a Part II later on my website. So, if you want to hear more, check back often! It, along with more short stories, are soon to come! As always, comment at let me know what you think. You can follow me on Facebook and Twitter by clicking the links at the top of the page and subscribe to my blog via Email at the bottom of the sidebar. Now, I need to get back to work on ‘Cliffview’. Lot’s of work to do! Happy Reading! 😉

About indiealtpdx

Writer for indie.alt and Vortex Music Magazine

Posted on 15/08/2012, in Short story. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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