Bleeding Blade Cut On Skin Novels & Stories

I heard some movement outside my door, but my mind was preoccupied with the sharp object in my hand, so I ignored it. I sit, leaning against the wall, and close my eyes, allowing my mind to trace the skin on my hand to make the cut. I get a faint burning sensation, which I remember from the first time I did this. The slow initial touch, the rush of adrenaline before dragging the blade deep into my skin. Just as I let the blood trickle down the floor, I heard the door bang, which startled me and caused the blade in my hand to slip out of my grip.

It had stopped bleeding, but it still looked horrendous. When she was satisfied with her cleaning, she grabbed a knife and sliced open the skin of her palm without as much as a flinch, and quickly held the cut above his stab; I watched the red liquid trickle down to his wound and almost sagged with relief when the sides began to close up…now he just had to wake up.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly sliced the blade across her skin, wincing at the pain but determined to carry on. The wound started to bleed profusely. The blood flowed out of the cut and dripped down her thigh, staining her dress and pooling on the floor. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, and Aurora felt lightheaded from the loss of blood. She tried to stifle a gasp of pain and clutched her thigh with her free hand to slow the bleeding.

Muscle tissue healed relatively quickly, but he did still need to use his leg. Dancing out of his reach in a move that looked nonchalant, I held his gaze. The soft plop of his blood off the end of the knife onto the floor was the only noise in the room. Luckily, I was skilled enough that he wasn't in immediate danger of bleeding out. My blade was sharp enough to make lasers jealous.

A bead of blood appeared immediately. Judy quickly rinsed it under water and wrapped her finger with a tissue paper. It was just a small cut that would heal on its own by tomorrow if left unattended. However, when Judy walked out, Lewis noticed the bandage on her hand and asked worriedly, "What happened?" "I was accidentally cut by the blade and it's fine," Judy replied, taking off the bandage. By this time, the bleeding had already stopped. Lewis frowned, "A cut isn’t small matter; it could lead to tetanus. Stay seated, I'll disinfect it with alcohol."

"Hand me the knife." A serrated, long blade was handed to me, the weight solid and comfortable. I raised an eyebrow at Vincent, watching him closely. His breath caught. Good. I slid the point of the knife over his forearm lightly, just enough for him to flinch. Then I pressed down. Vincent shrieked again, writhing as the blade sliced through his skin. Blood erupted instantaneously, dark and viscous, flowing down his arm in rivulets. I hunched over him, my voice too low. "This is me being patient."

I said looking off into the distance by the end, the horrific scene of these huge blades flying at me playing back like a movie reel. “I still don’t understand what happened, I was stood off to the side of the training grounds and was learning how to properly catch the blade when it’s flying at your face. It was all going great until multiple knives began to fly at me. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the claw spiked blades but what makes them so dangerous, is the razor-sharp claw like edge which when is sliced or thrown at a person, it seems to dig into the skin and when it spins to exit, rips layers of their flesh off. Now, I had been catching them with ease, but when they all were bei

Liam had escaped, but he was wounded and alone in a world that was now his enemy. The wound on Liam's arm was a gruesome sight. The jagged edges of the blade had torn through his flesh, leaving a gaping gash that oozed crimson blood. The injury was deep, almost to the bone, and the blood flowed freely from the wound, forming a crimson pool on the cold, stone floor.

My arm itch to be cut every now and then. I place my hand on the table and press the blade of the razor above the relatively new blood red cuts, practically with no hesitation. I watch as blood ooze out of the cut. I again press the blade down to make one more cut and this time the blade cut a little deeper than intended that I yelp before clenching my teeth together tightly and squeezing my eyes shut it pain. Tears slither down my cheeks and falls onto the my bloody arm, the saltine of my tears getting into my new cut, making a tingling sensation there.

Lena withdraws the blade, wipes the blood with a black cloth, applies an ointment to the wound that sizzles, cauterizes, leaves a white, permanent mark. The right breast. Same gesture, same cut, same scream, same blood. Then the thighs. The inner thighs, where the skin is most sensitive, where my fingers have so often caressed, penetrated, possessed. Lena cuts, a fine, deep incision, blood flows abundantly, covers the altar, flows onto the black stone.