VICTIM STORIES
the lasting impact of knife crime
Victim Stories
Jack 14 - London
A Shattered Life
It’s been months since that night, but I can still feel the cold blade against my skin, the sharp pain as it tore across my face. I can still hear their laughter as they ran off, leaving me bleeding and terrified in that dark alley. My life split into two that night, before and after.
Before, I was just Jack. A 14-year-old boy from London who loved playing football, messing around with mates, and dreaming about the future. But now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t see Jack anymore. I see the scar that runs from my temple to my chin, a reminder of how everything changed in a split second.
I used to walk home without a second thought. Now, every step outside feels like a risk. My heart races when I see shadows or hear footsteps behind me. I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and stick to crowded streets. Even then, the fear follows me like a shadow.
School is different now, too. People stare, but they don’t really see me. They see the scar, the mark of what happened. Some kids whisper, some avoid me altogether. My friends try to act like nothing’s changed, but I know they’re uncomfortable. They don’t know what to say or how to help. I don’t blame them; I don’t know what to say either.
The nights are the worst. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying that moment over and over in my head. The fear grips me so tight I can’t breathe. Sometimes I wake up, drenched in sweat, convinced that it’s happening all over again.
The scar isn’t just on my face; it’s in my mind. I don’t feel safe anywhere, not even in my own skin. I avoid looking in mirrors because I hate what I see, a reminder of how powerless I was, how easily everything I knew was ripped away.
I wonder if those guys even think about me. I wonder if they realise what they’ve done, not just to my face but to my entire life. I wonder if they know that carrying a knife doesn’t make them strong or cool, it just leaves destruction in its wake.
Endnote: If you’re thinking about carrying a knife, remember my story. It only takes a second to change someone’s life forever. The pain, the fear, the scars, none of it is worth it. Don’t let a moment of thoughtlessness or bravado turn you into someone who leaves scars behind. Choose to walk away. Choose to be better.
Kerry 34 - Newcastle
The Shadows That Haunt Me
I was once carefree. The park used to be my sanctuary, a place where I could breathe deeply, feel the sun on my skin, and watch my dog, Max, chase birds with reckless abandon. I felt alive there. But now, the park is a battlefield, one that I’ll never return to.
I woke up in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages like a broken doll. They told me I was lucky to be alive, but I didn’t feel lucky. I felt hollow, like something inside me had been stolen. My body had healed, but the scars, the ones you don’t see, will never fade.
Now, I can’t leave the house. I can’t even walk to the mailbox without feeling like someone’s watching me. Every time I step outside, I see him, the shadow of my attacker, lurking behind every tree, every corner. Even though I know he’s not there, I feel his presence like a weight on my chest. It suffocates me.
The worst part? I don’t recognize myself anymore. I used to be bold, unafraid. Now, I’m terrified of everything. My once-beautiful arms are covered in jagged scars, reminders of what happened, of what could happen again. I can’t even walk Max without shaking. He looks at me with those sad eyes, wondering why we don’t go to the park anymore, but how do I explain to him that the world isn’t safe? That I’m not safe?
My friends tell me it’ll get better, that I’ll move past this. But they don’t understand. I can still feel the cold metal of the knife against my skin, slicing through me as if I were nothing. I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, the echoes of my screams still ringing in my ears.
I wish I could go back and undo it all. I wish that man had never picked up that knife. Maybe then, I’d still be me, the girl who laughed too loudly, who went on spontaneous adventures, who walked her dog without a second thought. But now, I’m just a ghost of who I used to be.
So, to whoever’s reading this, before you think about carrying a knife, remember me. Remember how one moment of violence stole my life. Remember that it wasn’t just one cut or one scar, it was the death of the person I used to be.
And trust me, you don’t want to be the reason someone else becomes a shadow.
Endnote: Knives destroy lives, not just the ones they cut, but the people who carry them too. One reckless moment can ruin everything, for you and for someone else. Don’t let fear, anger, or insecurity drive you to carry a weapon. Put the knife down. Choose kindness, not violence.