“Wanna play a game?”
“Of course you do…”
She grabs his hair tight, some of it coming out in her fist, and pulls it back, hard. His lips turn white as he stretches his mouth open wide, his tongue sticking out pointedly. The skin of his wrists bleeds from rope friction and his fingernails slice into his palms, his fists squeezed dense with tension.
“I’ve got your nose.”
She produces a blade, the kind that men used to shave with before disposable razors, and she slices the tip of his nose off with a quick flick. What his saw was the flash of the blade in front of his eyes, a streak of silvery white, and then the spurt of red, warm blood flowing into his mouth.
“Where is your nose? Where is it? Hey… don’t cry, you stupid baby. I have it right here… See?
His nose is a white dot floating in a pool of red in the palm of her hand.