Blood Pooling In Fingers Novels & Stories

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I glanced around, my eyes landing on the only other person in the vicinity - him. As I shifted my gaze towards the source of the wetness on my hand, a mix of shock and disbelief washed over me. The sight that met my eyes was both disturbing and perplexing. The blood, crimson and glistening, was pouring out from the very spot where my clenched fist had made contact with him, repeatedly and with unyielding force. A deep sense of confusion enveloped my thoughts as I struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. How could a mere series of punches result in such a profuse and relentless flow of blood from his arm?

She stood next to the bed and applied a moisturizing cream to her face. All of a sudden, liquid started dripping all over her head. She felt a moist sensation over her hair. She ran her fingers in her hair. She looked into her hand. Her heart burst out of her mouth when she saw her fingers. Her fingers were covered in blood and shivers ran down her spine. She slowly raised her eyes towards the ceiling with a shaking heart. There was dark red blood streaming out of the ceiling.

God, help me! This time without closing her eyes she pricked her finger and immediately she could see her blood. Happily, she picked her pipette to collect the blood. It took her a minute to realize that she had not done a bold prick and the blood was coming from three different spots on the same part of the finger. Instead of blood coming because of one bold prick like Nazia, Ria was getting blood because of three different pricks she had done.

I froze. There was something wrong. Something violated. Tender. Marked. My fingers trembled as I slid them beneath the sheets, down between my legs. My breath caught. The sensation was raw, the skin there swollen and sticky with dried fluids. Some patches had a crusted texture that was unmistakably blood. I pulled my hand back. Crimson specks clung to my fingers like some cursed reminder. I didn’t cry. Nor did I Didn’t scream. Instead, I smirked.

After a long silence, he said, "Come. Get an X-ray. I need to see the X-ray of your fingers." Mr. Smith then led Serenity into an isolation room, which was completely out of place in this small clinic. After taking the X-ray, Mr. Smith studied the film carefully. He thought for a long time and said to Serenity, "Your fingers weren't properly treated after the injury. You've missed the golden period for treatment." "I know," Serenity said. When Jackson had sent her to the specialist doctor, the doctor there had said the same thing. "Your fingers must hurt in cold and humid weather. You may be struggling with finger dexterity and find it harder to coordinate your fingers after the injury," Mr.

My heart seemed to pound out of my chest as the blood pooled around my body. I thought I was going to die right then and there. I tried to move my fingers but only succeeded very slightly by moving them only a few centimeters. I could feel the dried blood sticking my fingers together so I rolled my head to the side. My hair had been glued to the street by the dried blood and it nearly ripped my hair out of my head when I turned it. My face cringed by the pain as it grew fast and faster throughout my scalp.

A thick, heavy pool of hot copper flooded my tongue. I quickly clamped my mouth shut, pressing my hand tightly over my lips as my knees buckled. I sank down onto the cold stone floor, my body curling inward to fight the intense agony. I forcefully swallowed the blood down, refusing to make a single sound in the empty penthouse. My whole body shook with uncontrollable tremors from the internal magic burn. Leaning my forehead against the cold iron of the lower shelf, I pulled up the sleeves of my oversized grey jacket. I looked at my bare wrists in the dim light. The dangerous golden threads of my royal veins were pulsing brightly, glowing right through my skin like liquid fire.

He wiped a layer of dark, smoking blood from his cheek with the back of his sleeve, leaving a long, smeary streak across his pale skin. My branded wrist had gone completely cold, a dead, heavy lump of flesh that felt as though it had been severed from my nervous system entirely. The silver ink of the geas no longer pulsed with fire, but its frozen presence felt like a band of solid iron constricting the blood flow to my fingertips. Every movement of my hand required a conscious, agonizing effort, my muscles resisting the mental commands like wet clay.

He frowned, sulking deeper. He sulks like a girl, trusts me. "Fine." I tried to push my hands down on the hospital bed to stand up. But unfortunately, putting your weight down to your hands is actually a really bad idea. How? I looked up and gulped, "Uh Charlie... my dextrous has blood in it...." ~-~ "Does it still hurt?" The nurse asked, tapping my hand. "A little bit," I muttered through gritted teeth. Of course, it hurts!

I ask not so happy with the situation. “I think he secures the first floor. He said he finished from our college unfortunately I do not recognize him.” “Jeffrey James?” “I didn't get his last name.” “He is the only Jeffrey on the ground floor.” I gently lift her hand. “Which of the fingers?” “This and this but I think the impact was more on the index finger.” “We are going to see the doctor immediately.” “It’s not that serious.” “Your joking right? Can't you tell there is a blood clot at the tip of your finger?”