How Does Design Better Suited For Someone Of Your Stature? Essay

The sniper reached into his pocket. He pulled out a knife. Small and silver but extremely sharp. He didn’t think. The sniper stabbed his mother, right into her back. Hearing his mother screaming and watching

“Wedded to her in lust…. Terror…. Jack was on top of the sow, stabbing downward with his knife. Roger found lodgment for his point and began to push till he was leaning with his whole weight…. Terrified squealing became a high pitched scream.”

"Struck down by the heat, the sow fell and the hunters hurled themselves at her." The image created is the first provocation of sexual activity, showing the eagerness and desperation in the boys as they quickly grasp their opportunity. "She squealed and bucked an the air was full of sweat and noise and blood and terror." Sentence constructed short, where repetition of ‘and ' creates phases to emphasise the sinisterly images using the emotive language of the sows screams and the mood of the environment. "Jack was on top of the sow, stabbing downward with his knife. Roger found a lodgment for his point and began to push till he was leaning with his whole weight. The spear move forward inch by inch and the terrified

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

My heart leapt in my throat- I did my best to try and regulate my breathing so I wouldn’t give away my position with massive, choking gulps of air. Closing my eyes, I tried to re-collect blissful memories, ones that were far away from this state of affairs. I couldn’t calm down; this was so bad- what was I going to do? His steps were getting closer; they were getting louder. I panicked, I panicked.

She had taken care of him, suffered through his fits of rage, accepted his blind addiction to loving himself, and his inability to sympathize with there needs. She was alone, isolated, and her pain was denied by his constant need for the world to revolve around his compulsions. This contradictory life weighed heavily on her, until one day she cold not live with it any longer. He came home on one of his low days. He was upset by his business, rattling on about how his business associates had wronged him. As he was ranting, something in her snapped, she grabbed the kitchen knife to her left and stabbed

It has been at least an hour and a half since the attack. She does not remember anything that happened. She slowly get up and reaches for the doorknob. A sudden shot of pain went up her arm. Blood then started dripping from her hand. She had been cut. A knife stabbed her in her hand. “Ow.”, She then blacks out.

"Look at you, you weak bitch. On your knees, where you fucking, belong." He laughed, a cold, merciless sound that matched the expression on his face as he slapped her, almost tauntingly with his meat again, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in the night air, and then forced her head back, and her body to arch with the impetus with which he jerked on her hair. His feet moved forward and he planted them either side of her shoulders. "That's right, you're going to do anything I want." She'd had more than ample opportunity to utter the safe-word he told himself, as the whip arced again, this time cracking six inches above her thigh, before the leather tails struck skin and curled around her thigh, and simultaneously the string of the corset was ripped, rather than pulled open, and Lila Ross's tits feel free. A large rough hand quickly grasped one in it's palm, and Tom stepped forward, swinging the whip again as he squeezed, and stepped forward; his raging and throbbing manhood at the woman's eyes level. "You don't want me to hurt you, then open your fucking mouth and beg for me to screw it, like your husband wouldn't

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

He produced numerous, knives, tongs, and saws from the cabinets to his left and right. Many of his instruments were doused in fresh crimson fluids and had heavy signs of use. He removed my clothes, folding them into a nice neat pile, placing them on a countertop to his right. I felt the first incision, a fine line being carved vertically across my chest, peeling back the skin. Next he used a fine-tooth saw to cut through my sternum. It wasn’t until he cracked my ribs open, that the futility of the situation took effect. The pain was excruciating, I began to scream and thrash around on the bench, kicking his instruments of torture. “Shhh, shhh, shh,” he said, placing a dirty wet rag over my mouth. My vision blurred, as I watching my exposed heart beat, blood pulsating from my chest, over my bare skin, down onto the stone floor. I slipped into a warm

THEY'RE ALL DEAD!” She screams at the top of her lungs, clawing at his face, the adult chatters his teeth and falls to his knees, than on his face. But Aliea isn’t done yet, she shoves him over, so he’s on his back, than kicking him in the face as hard as she can. His nose shoved into his fat face, blood runs everywhere. She takes her thumbs and smashes them into his eyes, turning them into muddy jelly. Little rivers of blood trickle down his cheeks and into his gaping mouth. She rakes his face with her fingernails, leaving flesh under them. ‘I’m worse than they are..’ she thinks to herself. She smiles, then licks some blood of her fingers. She jabs her stick into his fat gut, than spits on his bloody face and keeps on walking down the

He reaches out and picks up his thirteen-inch kitchen knife, a chef’s companion. It seems to glimmer under the fluorescent lights. He extends his arm sharply and deliberately and buries at least four inches into Mayang’s throat. Her eyes grow to the size of golf balls bulging from her face. Her hands fly to her throat as she stumbles back, falling off the end of the blade. The sound of her incessant nagging is replaced with wet gulps for air. Blood pours down the front of Mayang with a few squirts escaping between her fingers every once in a while. As she stumbles back further, crossing the threshold into the living room Marcus walks forward matching her pace. Their gaze locked on one another. Mayang trips over the end table knocking it over and falls backward. The tables glass top shatters casting tiny shards across the room. Mayang tries to grab the couch to steady herself but collapses behind it leaving a swath of blood down the back. Her hands slowly release her neck and come to a rest at her side. Marcus kneels, straddling Mayang. watching as her eyes lose focus, her breathing slows, her throat fills with blood, and her body goes limp. Marcus looks on expressionless, slumped on top of her. He’s still for a moment longer before erupting in a fit of rage. He raises the knife above his head. Again, the heartbeat rises in his

I was starting to have doubts… I still remember the screams of the children and the noose tightened and dug into their skin until a river of crimson blood ran from their neck. “Sir we are we going?” a child questioned “Will my mother be there?” “No.” I respond with no emotion

In the instant before I tightened my grip, I felt the cloud of his breath on my face... I squeezed as hard as I could: I felt the windpipe convulse beneath my fingers and the Adam’s apple twitch like a grizzled heart. ‘Squeeze harder, dear.’ said Mrs. Grant in an oddly soothing voice... There was a crazed look in Mr. Hardie’s eyes and I was afraid to let go, for if I did, he would surely kill me.”

“My name,” she repeated, this time more steadily, “is Elizabeth .” My Father’s expression changed drastically, now the face that was once a little annoyed, began to morph to pure anger. All these years no one ever talked back to my Father, not once has anyone ever said anything against him. Time slowed down as he began to raise an arm to discipline my Ma, but bit his lip in regret and retreated to the couch across the room. Everyone froze in the silence. Nobody in this household would ever hit a lady, especially someone who does as much for us as my Ma. He was such a nice man, so handsome and helpful, why would he even think about hitting my Ma? I watched as he slouched into the crevice that's been created in