Knife's Edge

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The tip of the blade nudges gently against your back, over and over.
Tap.
Tap.
It hurts each time, just a little. The blade is viciously sharp, so sharp that it should be impossible to do this without breaking skin and spilling fluid.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
And yet, here you are.
Tap.
This has been going on for nearly 45 minutes, and there's not a drop of moisture on your roughly-woven burlap back.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
You squirm slightly, against your best efforts to hold still, and her firm hand grips the back of your neck.
Tap.
Tap.
"You know what you must do to end this, little one. Until then, you're not moving."
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
You stifle a groan in your throat, knowing that it will only make things worse.
Tap.
Tap.
Your teeth grit tighter as you feel your resolve weakening with each mocking, taunting almost-wound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
You can't take this anymore. "P-... Please, Miss, just let this one h-have it..."

The tapping stops and the knife pulls back from you for a brief eternity. Her hand grips you tighter as she buries the knife in your back, tip emerging from your stomach, just below the ribcage. Clear lubricant pours from the rupture and drenches your stomach. You know this won't kill you, not in this body, but the pain is excruciating nonetheless.

She lets go of the handle, slapping you across the head. "Stubborn little fool! My arm is sore because of your stubbornness. You can keep it in until tomorrow." You nod forlornly and drop down off the stool. As you shuffle away, you have to suppress a yelp of pain with every step. It's going to be a long night.