Accidentally Touched Dried Blood Novels & Stories

He carefully wiped the wet floor, then the walls, his meticulousness chipping away at my anger and replacing it with a touch of pity. Suddenly, he saw something and rushed toward the sofa, only to stumble and fall. I couldn't catch him in time, but I quickly went to help him up. He rejected my help again, but this time it felt more like he was recoiling from my touch, which offended me. Just as I was about to confront him, I saw what he was doing. He was using the towel to scrub at a spot on the coffee table. Upon closer inspection, I realized he was trying to clean a dried bloodstain.

It was my best shot. With shaking hands, I carefully opened the nylon package. I uncapped the hand sanitizer and squeezed a small amount onto my fingertip. I dabbed it onto the area of the shirt where the blood was most concentrated, trying to mimic an accidental spill. I rubbed it in gently, hoping the alcohol would do its work.

The plates that I had just finished washing were just dispersed among the trash can and the clutter that was already on the ground. I just bowed my hand and replied stiffly. "That idiot, he did it!" That guy is filling my mind to the brim, and I want to grab his arse! I cleaned once again, and as I was taking out the trash one by one, my eyebrows sprang up when I spotted the bloody tissues in the trash. I thought to me, "Is it really blood? Red indicates that it is not ketchup or paint. I am aware of their distinctions. Hmm, perhaps he hurt himself while cutting? However, why is it so high?

Blood stained the side of his jeans, and every time he blinked, he saw Ethan’s pale face—eyes fluttering, lips barely moving. “He said something,” Ezra whispered to himself, hand gripping his head. “What was he trying to say?” “Mr Ezra?” A soft voice came from behind. He turned quickly. It was Nurse Janet, one of the few familiar staff from earlier. Her face was lined with exhaustion, but her eyes were kind. She walked toward him, holding a damp cloth. “You’ve got blood on your hands,” she said gently. Ezra nodded, staring at them. “It’s his. It won’t come off.”

Bianchi so it's really important for them to accept us, especially my little Advira who is getting the love which she had not gotten in the past. I am so busy in my thoughts that when I get to take out the food from the microwave, the bowl containing the food slip from my glove cover right hand. While trying to save the food I hurriedly touch the bowl with my left hand before keeping the bowl on the nearby counter, some of the food spill on my hand. As I am not wearing any glove on my left hand, it starts to burn and swell. However, I am sure that someone has pushed me from behind and that's why the accident happened. I look around but can not find anyone although I hear the clicking of heel

Good to know. I scrubbed a hand over my face and felt a strange, flakiness across my fingers. I glanced down at my hand and stilled. Dark, red flakes were dotted across my palm. Dried blood. Standing on shaking legs, I made my way to the mirror. My nose had been bleeding, I realized, as I started at the mess of my reflection. A long line of dark blood had run from my nose, down over my lips, and even reached my throat. It had dried in nearly a perfect line until I’d smeared it all over. Rust-coloured scaly flakes now decorated my chin and cheeks. Heading for the shower, I stopped dead in the hallway, as a cool breeze blew across my bare legs. Muted sunlight streamed past the cracks in the bl

Then comes another drop, and another and another, in irritation and disgust, I pull my fingers over the wet areas on my face as I lazily pull my eyes open. Sleep vanishes from my eyes and they are shot open in wild alert when I see a bowl right above my head. I sit up only to find Madre smiling eerily at me. I stare closely at the bowl and I see a drop of red liquid escape the bottom of the bowl and land on the sheets of my bed creating a small red circle. I stare at my fingers and see they're smudged with....blood!?. I take the sheets of the bed and aggressively rub them against my face and the white fabric turns pink.

“Aiko… you’re still drunk." He knelt beside her and reached out to fix her disheveled hair, his fingers moving with a tenderness that felt painfully out of place. He meant to stroke her head, to calm her the way he always did—but the moment his hand touched her scalp, something felt wrong. Warm. Sticky. His breath hitched as he slowly pulled his hand back, his gaze locking onto the blood smeared across his palm. Panic crept into his chest as he looked around and noticed the dark stains on the wall where she had been leaning. The same kind of blood he had seen on the pillow.

"You are mixing your blood with the dishes! Are you trying to disgust me to death?" I winced as I heard my mother-in-law's relentless nagging. A bead of crimson blood trickled from my finger, evidence of a careless mistake in the midst of my culinary endeavors. Yet, to my surprise, there was no accompanying surge of pain. It was as if my senses had been momentarily numbed. I stared at the bright red blood dripping from my finger, the vivid color contrasting against the pristine kitchen tiles. As my eyes shifted from the wound to my mother-in-law's face contorted in disgust, a surge of emotions overwhelmed me.

That light was too pure and bright, revealing me for who I was. The filth churning inside me was something detestable and loathsome. It was so overwhelming that I did not dare to touch it. After it happened a few times, Ethan developed stomach problems. When I was not paying attention, he would endure the pain silently with his brows tightly furrowed. He was too afraid to let me find out and never told me. It was not until one morning, after staying up all night to care for me, that he fainted from the pain at his office. That was when I realized just how severe his condition had become.