Broken Blood Vessels On Shoulder の小説・ストーリー

Made him look at me. His expression was carefully blank. But his nose was bleeding. Slow and steady. "It's nothing," he said. "Get off me." "Remi—" "Get OFF me. Right now." He pulled back. Sat up. Pressed his fingers to his nose. The bleeding was already slowing. But I could see it. The mark on his shoulder. The four lines from the creature's claws. They looked darker than before. The black veins that spread from them reaching further than yesterday.

Ribs—at least two cracked, maybe more. My right shoulder feels dislocated, hanging at an odd angle that sends lightning bolts of pain through my arm whenever I try to move it. Bruises bloom across my torso like grotesque flowers, purple and black and yellow, marking every place they found to hurt me. But I'm alive. Battered, broken, barely conscious, but alive. And that means I can still fight. Something feels different about my ankle, though—wrong in a way that has nothing to do with the fresh bruises and cuts.

Diego slowly lowered his hand, blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched his shoulder. When he caught the indifferent look in her eyes, a storm of malicious rage rose from deep inside him. His complexion turned ghastly pale. The black suit he wore did well to mask the growing patch of blood at his shoulder, but the crimson liquid soon crept down his arm—dripping from his long, slender fingers and tracing the contours of his hand before falling to the yacht’s deck in slow, winding drops.

"Is your shoulder injured?" When she removed her hand, she found that her palm that had touched his shoulder was stained with blood! His shoulder was injured! "Let me have a look!" Callan couldn't dodge her, so he had to turn his body to let her have a look. As soon as she saw his wound, she couldn't control her tears anymore. She cried harder and harder! Callan got a gash between his left shoulder and the middle of his waist, and there was a piece of metal debris in his left shoulder! The debris of the exploded truck must be bounced into his body, and it was still hot!

Parker is on the ground, bleeding heavily from the wound in his shoulder. NOOOOOOOOO, I scream. Why can't I move? Is this some form of psychcological torture.... I can hear Parker’s fading heartbeat. Where the arrow entered his shoulder, black veins were spidering from the wound. Wolfsbane? But the black veins weren’t common with wolfsbane.

A bone poked out at the arm’s joint, with blood streaming down. “What?”

I reached Timberland running all the way till here briefly being in my thoughts, don't even I remember as to when that happened. "Okay, get up buddy." He helped me get on my legs but hell, the pain shot sharp down the length of my arm causing my muscle to contract and shrink in response of the pain. "Shit, you shoulder!" I looked at where he indicated. "Igh shit, that looks awful." whining at it I saw how badly have my skin slitted from along the line of collar bone ending right above my heart. He hissed regretfully seeing how my visible flesh moved as the blood oozes out like an aggressive river flowing during rainstorm. I attempted to pull together the slit and close it nonetheless it stai

“Or I’ll—oomph.” Sharp, sudden pain lanced my left shoulder and spiked its way down my arm until it exploded out the tips of my fingers before abruptly going numb. Nicolette screamed. No longer in the mood to flirt or do anything but curl into a ball and howl in agony, I tried to inspect the paralyzing intrusion that had punctured me, but when I looked down, my vision darkened at the corners. Dizziness ensued. My conscious brain flickered. “Ah, fuck,” I muttered when I finally caught sight of the long, thin shaft with a feathered end sticking out of my shoulder, right in the front tender, meaty area under my clavicle, in that empty space the rib cage didn’t cover.

Those were the two things right away and I just held that until the rest came back. I ran the inventory. Feet, fine. Legs, fine. Left side of my torso, not great. Ribs, at least two, the difference between cracked and bruised matter only in degree because the functional outcome was the same. Right shoulder, sore but mobile. Head still mostly intact, the bell starting to lose its harshest jangle. I pushed myself upright.

~Bethany~ I don’t know how much time passes before I’m brutally wrenched back to the greenhouse store room. My right shoulder is soaked and sticky with cold blood. Trying to keep my groan to a minimum in case someone is outside the room or within the corridors, I sit up and grimace at the amount of dark blood pooled around me. That’s certainly enough to kill a normal person. When I reach up, my shoulder is tender, but at least the wound is gone.