Burst Blood Vessel In Finger Novels & Stories

Then the world exploded. A sharp, burning pain tore through my forearm so suddenly that my whole body jerked sideways. The gun wrenched itself out of my grip and hit the floor with a loud clatter that felt distant, like it happened underwater. I spun around, gasping, trying to understand what had just happened. Then I saw the blood. It was gushing, thick and dark and fast, soaking into my sleeve and running down the back of my hand and dripping off my fingers. I stared at it for a full second before my brain caught up.

I closed my eyes and let the warm feeling grow stronger. I could sense Emma's body, her heartbeat, her breathing. I could feel the tiny torn edges of skin and the small broken blood vessels underneath, like I could speak to them in my mind. Slowly, gently, I encouraged the skin to come back together. I helped the blood vessels reconnect. I smoothed away the pain and swelling. When I opened my eyes, Emma's finger looked completely normal. There wasn't even a scar where the cut had been. "Oh my goodness," Emma breathed, staring at her finger in amazement.

Their spine turned numb from the agonizing pain from just his grip that kept getting tighter. Their elbows went numb from the agonizing jitter. Unfortunately, he didn't stop. In fact, his grip got tighter with each second crushing their bones even more refined powder. The blood vessels began to burst from the pressure. Their eyes turned blood-red and their veins on their foreheads popped out.

I had gotten what I came for so I turned around to leave the hall when a piercing scream reached my ears. The owner of the voice was scared shitless, horrified might be the right word yet. The sharp scent of fresh blood invaded my nostrils as I filled my lungs with the heated air in the room. Distinctively human. From what I knew the human blood vessels were fiercely protected until they are handed to their buyers but an opened blood vessel in a house filled with thirsty vampires? A Dhampir suddenly started towards the direction the scream came, and fangs protruded. “Don’t move a fucking inch.” My voice resonated about the room.

I’d been ignoring it well enough, but this time, when I pulled my fingers away, my skin suddenly stung in the breeze and my fingertips felt wet. Stopping, I looked down at my hand. My fingertips were red and sticky with blood.

And then, with a sudden burst of anger, I shattered the glass into pieces. The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the room, and I watched as the shards fell to the ground in a cascade of glittering fragments. As I stared down at my hand, I saw that it was covered in a beautiful, dark hue of red. Blood was dripping down my fingers, and I could feel it seeping into the crevices between my knuckles.

The sharp jaws of the device finally clamp around his fingers tightly and begin to dig into the flesh slowly causing excruciating pain and he screams louder than I've ever heard. Blood gathers at the surface of the skin due to the pressure and as I continue to tighten the screw, blood begins to pour down his fingers. By this time, he's screamed himself shrill and now he just convulses, releasing choked out cries. I can tell the jaws have gotten to his phalanges due to the hindrance but if I just apply enough pressure, the plates will crush the bones and even more pressure than will completely take off his fingers. I think I'd much enjoy that.

Whenever I touched him, I burned my hands, and my fingers were so cold that each of my touches hurt him. Blood kept oozing from his open lip. Thick, fresh blood: it looked dark. I still remember what it looked like when it changed its color on my shivering hands. It was no longer red at all. but nearly black, and could have been mistaken for ink as it ran over my fingers.

My right arm aches as though I’ve over-exerted it. Something warm drips from my fingers and when I look down I have to stifle a scream. It’s blood. What have I done? My breath catches in my throat and my heartbeat turns into a frantic staccato. I’m sure it’s not mine. I don’t seem to be injured, but it’s there, smeared across my hands, my nails caked with it. A broken gasp rips from my throat and I scramble backward, my pulse roaring in my ears as I look around frantically, trying to find whatever I killed.

It pierced my forefinger, causing blood to start flowing down the finger, tracing a path down my palm. Clenching it between my palm, I raised my left arm and placed the sharp end on the sensitive skin of my wrist. My eyes watched as the glass drew a line down the whole length of my arm. Blood peeked out of the line at first, but then, it started to pour out—hot, fresh, and dark red. I dropped to my knees, and shards pierced my skin. I didn’t care. I moved back on the floor until my back hit the wall, and then…I just rested.