-sharp. Travis’s vision was absolutely abysmal now; the loss of his glasses a wound more crippling than anything the girl before him had inflicted on him.

Still, the item, whatever the hell it was, in Emily’s rapidly shaking hand was sharp.

The first, ugh, indication of it was how it left a round wet red mark on Travis’s stomach, the second was how it hurt like hell. Like hell, the wound(it couldn’t be anything else) felt like fire, a pain not unlike sticking his finger in a bubbling oily frying pan for thirty seconds. The pain was getting too intense, more red marks appeared on Travis’s stomach, arms, and legs. His eyes started to shut. He felt bad for himself, but even worse for the girl. Emily's rants and raves all indicated one thing: She was traumatized.

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He felt the barrier supporting his back give way, and then the only thing left was silence.