He stabbed her through the heart. Not with a knife or any other sharp blade but with his words. Reaching deeply into her soul and tearing, wrenching, pulling sinew and muscle apart. Gutted. Field dressed.
You knew it was a good photograph because you’d seen it somewhere before. Not sure where, or how. Probably some old crime tv show from the sixties. Blood dripping from hands, head bowed, knife on the floor and a trail leading who knows where, to who knows what. You knew it was a good photograph, because no one knew what.
yeah i guess she must feel like that. Of course I don’t even know how to use a knife, not that Brutus had much training I’m sure. But this is different, even if just a little, so that makes me a piece of shit. Honesty makes me a piece of shit? Oh it’s a pattern? I’m breaking it right now.
Out of breath and high off of adrenaline, a slow grin took over her face as coherent thought finally set in. Thank God she’d worn her uncomfortable metallic stilettos. She’d kicked the living daylights out of the man who’d mistaken her for weak. Halfway home a the dull ache in her chest bloomed into something like being stuck with a hot poker. “What the fu-,” she managed to gasp before blackness too over her vision and she crumpled like a doll in the snow.
having been lied to or betrayed by someone feels a lot like getting stabbed
it doesn’t really matter where, it will hurt just the same
but no one can make you heal but yourself
take out the knives, throw it away. let them go and free yourself
pain, anger, frustrated, bleeding, these are the feelings of an injured person that has experienced anothers anger. Then the anger is ignited in the victim. The victim then feels anger toward others.
All of the memories that she had once held close had been stabbed with the knife of betrayal, nothing that she had done was for any real purpose. It had all been a farce.
‘Stabbed’ is a very violent word. It implies the movement of a blade, be it a sword, knife, or even a pencil through flesh. In most cases, stabbed is used during a violent scene, or simply to create a plot twist. Many writers use ‘stabbed’ as a way of cutting off empty fluff. For instance, if a character is training, say, at a demigod camp (What can I say? I’m a fangirl.), and the plot is going nowhere but the writer is not capable of creating a good transition to a plot-packed scene, they will simply make a random character, even a previously innocent one, come up and stab the protagonist. This often leads into the classic ‘black out to end the chapter’ scene, another overused cliche.
The knife clanged against the brick of the alleyway. Footsteps. A pained cry for help. There would be no one around to hear, because the culprit and the victim were the same: humanity itself.
Stabbed sounds hard and soft all at once. It, at the base of it, doesn’t sound quite as nasty as it means. Quite. I don’t like words like that. That’s giving a dog a bad name, that is.
Dark night just walking through the misty streetlights. The pains of today stabbed through me as I frantically flip through songs to get me in a better weekend space.
Its painful but it heals. It doesn’t last forever, unless it hits something vital. Knives are so incredibly frightening, and they don’t ever hold back. It might not even be on purpose
I was stabbed by a million neon lights as I opened the door and watched the flood of yellow taxicabs swarm through the air and about the room. They moved like a murmur of birds and overran the whole world, or at least I thought they did, until I saw that they weren’t cabs at all but blocks of light moving around in zags and zigs.
Charlie had finally had enough of his job and the endless prattling of his boss. After a particularly aggravating lecture about needing to be polite to phone customers, he had a sudden surge of rage, and stabbed his boss in the face with a letter opener, which was incredibly ineffectual.
Um, I hope I never get stabbed. When I was younger I used to be afraid I would get stabbed in the back because I slept on my stomach. Weird fear. I still sleep on my stomach and think about how I used to seriously be afraid of that! haha
The light from the crack in the cave wall pierced through the darkness , revealing the clammy surfaces around me. Unbearable pain stabbed at my eyes, unused to light after so long.
There are many times in life we feel stabbed in the back from friends. But the question isn’t who did the stabbing? The question is more, why do we see it in a negative light? Why do we allow something to hurt or wound us so deeply that we forgo everything else at that moment to feel the hollowness of hurt.
I’ve been stabbed a hundred times by things like friends and knives, by what I hold in my own hands. I bleed less each time. I think. Stabbed isn’t like pierced. Pierced goes all the way through; stabbed stops somewhere in the middle and ravages what it touches inside you.
Being stabbed hurt a lot more than he thought it would.
Of course, he had never planned on being stabbed, it wasn’t the sort of thing people actively tried to do. Still, when the knife pierced his side, he was down in an instant, a cry of pain leaving his lips.
He stabbed her with his ice cold blue eyes and she looked up, around, where was this coming from? She felt a shiver of fear and cold and then she spotted him. There, across the room. She pushed and shoved her way through the other people at the party. Finally, she was here. Home. Him. This is it.
Submit a video sample and two character references to the application on our community website: www.**********.org
Applicants should have: minimum 5 years experience with broadcasting – radio or small news outlet preferred – undergraduate B.A. in Communications or English, photogenic appearance.
_____
She crumbles the flyer and throws it behind her back, walking away as it falls neatly into a trashcan.
The burn of the medicine through her esophagus felt a teeny bit like she was being stabbed in the back – of course, she didn’t exactly know what the feeling of being stabbed in the back was specifically like, for she had never endured traumatic injuries or blood loss, and she certainly didn’t play with knives. Still, as she bent over in her gray steel chair and hyperventilated, she could equate such lancing pain to such an assault, as the doctor patted her shoulder and cooed as if to an overly sensitive infant.
He felt dizzy as he crawled out of the alleyway, barely able to support himself on shaking knees. The stab wound in his side hurt like hell and it his vision was deteriorating as he was walking. He knew there was little hope of reaching his apartment before collapsing and he could already feel himself losing consciousness. He slumped against the brick wall, vaguely registering the blood soaking through his shirt as the world turned to darkness around him.
Did you know the British use “gash” as a word for vagina? How’s that for getting stabbed in my bleeding feminist heart.
He stabbed her through the heart. Not with a knife or any other sharp blade but with his words. Reaching deeply into her soul and tearing, wrenching, pulling sinew and muscle apart. Gutted. Field dressed.
The police found the man slumped in a chair in the corner of the living room with a knife plunged into his chest.
You knew it was a good photograph because you’d seen it somewhere before. Not sure where, or how. Probably some old crime tv show from the sixties. Blood dripping from hands, head bowed, knife on the floor and a trail leading who knows where, to who knows what. You knew it was a good photograph, because no one knew what.
yeah i guess she must feel like that. Of course I don’t even know how to use a knife, not that Brutus had much training I’m sure. But this is different, even if just a little, so that makes me a piece of shit. Honesty makes me a piece of shit? Oh it’s a pattern? I’m breaking it right now.
Out of breath and high off of adrenaline, a slow grin took over her face as coherent thought finally set in. Thank God she’d worn her uncomfortable metallic stilettos. She’d kicked the living daylights out of the man who’d mistaken her for weak. Halfway home a the dull ache in her chest bloomed into something like being stuck with a hot poker. “What the fu-,” she managed to gasp before blackness too over her vision and she crumpled like a doll in the snow.
having been lied to or betrayed by someone feels a lot like getting stabbed
it doesn’t really matter where, it will hurt just the same
but no one can make you heal but yourself
take out the knives, throw it away. let them go and free yourself
pain, anger, frustrated, bleeding, these are the feelings of an injured person that has experienced anothers anger. Then the anger is ignited in the victim. The victim then feels anger toward others.
The knife went through the bread with such force that it almost fully came out the other side. “Woah. I should not make sandwiches drunk.”
stabbed
stabbed
stabbed
stabbed stabbed stabbed stabbed stabbe stabbed stabbed stabbed stabbed
The girl in the next door was violently stabbed last night.
i feel like i was stabbed in the back and left alone to die
All of the memories that she had once held close had been stabbed with the knife of betrayal, nothing that she had done was for any real purpose. It had all been a farce.
‘Stabbed’ is a very violent word. It implies the movement of a blade, be it a sword, knife, or even a pencil through flesh. In most cases, stabbed is used during a violent scene, or simply to create a plot twist. Many writers use ‘stabbed’ as a way of cutting off empty fluff. For instance, if a character is training, say, at a demigod camp (What can I say? I’m a fangirl.), and the plot is going nowhere but the writer is not capable of creating a good transition to a plot-packed scene, they will simply make a random character, even a previously innocent one, come up and stab the protagonist. This often leads into the classic ‘black out to end the chapter’ scene, another overused cliche.
The knife clanged against the brick of the alleyway. Footsteps. A pained cry for help. There would be no one around to hear, because the culprit and the victim were the same: humanity itself.
The victim was stabbed by a cold-blooded murderer.
It was a thrilling detective story indeed.
Stabbed sounds hard and soft all at once. It, at the base of it, doesn’t sound quite as nasty as it means. Quite. I don’t like words like that. That’s giving a dog a bad name, that is.
Dark night just walking through the misty streetlights. The pains of today stabbed through me as I frantically flip through songs to get me in a better weekend space.
Its painful but it heals. It doesn’t last forever, unless it hits something vital. Knives are so incredibly frightening, and they don’t ever hold back. It might not even be on purpose
I was stabbed by a million neon lights as I opened the door and watched the flood of yellow taxicabs swarm through the air and about the room. They moved like a murmur of birds and overran the whole world, or at least I thought they did, until I saw that they weren’t cabs at all but blocks of light moving around in zags and zigs.
piercing
straight through you
a dagger?
an arrow.
i’ve been stabbed in the back by cupid.
straight through the heart.
Charlie had finally had enough of his job and the endless prattling of his boss. After a particularly aggravating lecture about needing to be polite to phone customers, he had a sudden surge of rage, and stabbed his boss in the face with a letter opener, which was incredibly ineffectual.
Um, I hope I never get stabbed. When I was younger I used to be afraid I would get stabbed in the back because I slept on my stomach. Weird fear. I still sleep on my stomach and think about how I used to seriously be afraid of that! haha
The light from the crack in the cave wall pierced through the darkness , revealing the clammy surfaces around me. Unbearable pain stabbed at my eyes, unused to light after so long.
There are many times in life we feel stabbed in the back from friends. But the question isn’t who did the stabbing? The question is more, why do we see it in a negative light? Why do we allow something to hurt or wound us so deeply that we forgo everything else at that moment to feel the hollowness of hurt.
running
scared
pain dripping waterfalls gushing thick muddy red sweeping from the wound with the cleaver still protruding from the wound
I’ve been stabbed a hundred times by things like friends and knives, by what I hold in my own hands. I bleed less each time. I think. Stabbed isn’t like pierced. Pierced goes all the way through; stabbed stops somewhere in the middle and ravages what it touches inside you.
Being stabbed hurt a lot more than he thought it would.
Of course, he had never planned on being stabbed, it wasn’t the sort of thing people actively tried to do. Still, when the knife pierced his side, he was down in an instant, a cry of pain leaving his lips.
Yeah, being stabbed hurt like hell.
He stabbed her with his ice cold blue eyes and she looked up, around, where was this coming from? She felt a shiver of fear and cold and then she spotted him. There, across the room. She pushed and shoved her way through the other people at the party. Finally, she was here. Home. Him. This is it.
NEWS BROADCASTER POSITION AVAILABLE
Submit a video sample and two character references to the application on our community website: www.**********.org
Applicants should have: minimum 5 years experience with broadcasting – radio or small news outlet preferred – undergraduate B.A. in Communications or English, photogenic appearance.
_____
She crumbles the flyer and throws it behind her back, walking away as it falls neatly into a trashcan.
The burn of the medicine through her esophagus felt a teeny bit like she was being stabbed in the back – of course, she didn’t exactly know what the feeling of being stabbed in the back was specifically like, for she had never endured traumatic injuries or blood loss, and she certainly didn’t play with knives. Still, as she bent over in her gray steel chair and hyperventilated, she could equate such lancing pain to such an assault, as the doctor patted her shoulder and cooed as if to an overly sensitive infant.
Stabbed? Seriously? My review of current neighbourhood – I have not been stabbed and do not paln to get stabbed.
He felt dizzy as he crawled out of the alleyway, barely able to support himself on shaking knees. The stab wound in his side hurt like hell and it his vision was deteriorating as he was walking. He knew there was little hope of reaching his apartment before collapsing and he could already feel himself losing consciousness. He slumped against the brick wall, vaguely registering the blood soaking through his shirt as the world turned to darkness around him.