Bleeding Blade Cut On Skin Novels & Stories

I continued to space myself out, as he continued asking what I wanted to do, with fear in his voice. I stroked the small blade, cutting myself. He couldn't see me, so he continued to plead, fear now evident in his voice. I raised the blade, ready for a point between his ribs to place the next one. Training my eyes, I prepared the blade for takeoff whilst he screamed in anticipation. Deciding against it, I repositioned the blade safely in my hand, walking towards him again. I stood behind him this time, plotting the skin.

I’m not sure when I send the blade flying, but in one second my hand is empty. I vaguely hear the sound of metal cutting through the air. In the next second, It slices through candlelight, haze and history. Then— Impact. Not the clean, hollow plunge I rehearsed a hundred times in my head. There’s resistance. A sickening scrape. Metal meeting flesh, then bone. A sharp, strangled inhale. The blade does not sink where it should.

It feels better once the large glass chunk is pulled out, but now my blood flows freely from the gash, running down my leg. I’m shocked and thrilled to see the blade laying right next to. Whispering for me to take it. And I do, but with my grip tight on the weapon, I can feel the bone handle’s icyness. It’s almost painful to hold onto. The frigid burn creeps into my palm and up my forearm as I refuse to let it go. I barely manage to keep hold of the knife as that blood curdling scream pounds against my skull. Only a moron would think they can kill a banshee. Am I that stupid? I heave air into my lungs desperately trying to calm my erratic heart while bleeding out on my hands and knees, unabl

“I’ll try not to take another bullet. Just for you.” Blade crouched beside him, inspecting the wound with sharp eyes. “The bleeding’s slowing, but he needs stitching. If we don’t close it, infection will eat him alive.” “Then stitch it,” I said immediately. Blade shook his head. “Not here. Not with the supplies we’ve got.” “Then where?” My voice cracked. “You said this place would keep us safe.” “I said it would buy us time,” Blade corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Hu​man things. I‌ could do this. Make a sa⁠ndwich. Eat it. Go back upstairs. Simp⁠le. I found a kn‍ife in the drawer.⁠ Started slicing the bread. The blade slipped. ​ S⁠liced‌ right across my palm. Deep. Too deep. "Shit."‍ I dropped the‍ knife. Grabbed a towel. P‌ressed it against my‍ hand. Blood soake​d throug‌h im⁠media​tely. Too much⁠ blood​. Way​ too much.

It took a while before I finally took it upon myself to get rid of it and there I was in the kitchen with a knife in my hand trying to get it off my nails. Now, the major problem is, I accidentally took the knife too close to my skin, it slipped and cut my knuckle. It oozed out thick crimson liquid and stained the white counter. It was more of a cut than a scratch but wasn't too deep to need stiches. I was gradually staining the space around me and I tried pressing my hand down against it as a form of compression but it hurt. "Is everything alright ma'am?" Just when I thought life had showed me enough.

She was shivering constantly now, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of her face. Blake lifted her chin gently. "What happened? Why are you bleeding?" Her head shook slightly. "I don't…" her teeth chattered, "I don't know." Peering closely, he saw a cut at the hairline above her right temple. Swiping the hair back, he spied a sliver of glass and carefully removed it. "Come with me," he commanded.

“Stop being dramatic.” “I am being anatomical,” he protested. “I like my blood inside my body.” I grabbed the knife from Blaze. Caleb’s eyes widened. “Kara—!” I turned the blade in my own hand. “You trust me?” Blaze nodded without hesitation. I raised the knife and cut my palm. Pain lanced but I hissed through my teeth. Blood pooled in my hand as i let it drip and the sand absorbed it but nothing happened ye Sheila cursed. Caleb groaned.

The metal would burn even minor cuts, prevent quick healing, and amplify agony. "Let's try again." I pressed the blade against his shoulder, not cutting yet. Just pressure. "Where is Kael right now?"

“But don’t think for a second my father won’t hear about this. He’s going to be pissed.” “Oh, I know.” I chuckle. “And if he tries anything, let this be a message that I’m not scared of either of you.” With a flick of my wrist, the blade glides downward, slicing no more than two inches of the top layer of skin from his throat. Blood pours from the wound as I retract the knife, wiping the blood on my jeans. A scream tears through Liam’s throat as his hand flies up to cover the cut, crimson coating his fingers.