Cracked Bleeding Knuckles Novels & Stories

Oliver Four weeks. I stretch my left hand out on the cold marble of the kitchen island. I force the fingers to extend. They tremble, and the tendons pull with a stiff, hot ache, but they bend and straighten at my will. The splints came off three days ago. I spent the first twenty-four hours aggressively rubbing the ghost-itch where the metal used to dig into my knuckles. The skin underneath is dry and peeling. My hand looks gross, a pale, bruised claw, but it works.

Really poor of me. I forcefully sit up. I sit up my huge golden decorated king sized bed. My Werewolf aloha bones all crack. They slowly crack and readjust to their rightful and better important position. My neck bones cracks. It relieves and rescues me over any early morning wrong sided neck pain. Same with my arm, shoulders and knuckles. They all crack and readjust. My shoulder prouduce louder, longer and more painful sounds. Pretty sure it's more readjusted that other's.

I wouldn't be surprised if several of the bones in my knuckles are cracked. Nino circled me. "You're good but you seem a bit rusty." Understatement. I am rusty. "Your kicks are strong," he assessed. "But you need to gain more muscle in your arms. You punched me a while ago and it tickled." "My punches don't tickle," I defended. "They tickle, Dylan and I almost heard it squeak too, like a rubber duck." My teeth clicked in annoyance. I'll show you.

When we get home, I notice his knuckles are split. “You’re bleeding” I say frowning “It’s nothing. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last” He shrugs ‘’If you go round punching people like that, you might end up losing your fingers” I sigh I pull him toward the kitchen without thinking, sit him down and grab the first-aid kit. The same one he always attributes to his diagnosis of my so called ‘OCD tendencies’, which I always disagree with. I just like to be prepared. You never know what life will throw at you.

The gash across my back was deep, but it had stopped bleeding. It was still throbbing, but I had become accustomed to the pain. I lifted my shirt to see that I was becoming puffy on my left side, the skin turning yellow and green from bruising. I hissed and gritted my teeth in pain as I prodded my ribs. I knew they were broken from the twenty-foot fall from the cliff. I would have to be careful using my left side until they were healed. I let my shirt fall back down as I examined both sides of my hands. They weren’t bad. My knuckles were split and bruised, and my palms had minor cuts. I removed my feet from my shoes and gingerly removed my socks. It felt strange having them on.

Bowen crawled as fast as he could. His old knee had not moved for a long time, so it felt stiff and a little weak. Continuous crawling made the hinges of his knee ache. His waist also felt a little sore. Damn old body! Bowen cursed silently. At a critical time like this, the joints in his body actually slowed down his movements. Bowen sat in the middle of the road, panting. His breath was not strong enough to continue the journey. His hands and knees felt sore from the friction with the ground and had made the surfaces of his hands and knees blistered and bleeding.

I lied that we are in love because I thought you were also in love with me. Fuck! I yelled, slashing my hands across the table which was stocked with varieties of stuff. My knuckles bled because I had curled into a fist and used it negatively. A bleeding knuckle is kind of better than a broken heart, limb, or ankle. I'll just have to take my bath and brush my teeth and await this old foolish man for any of his stupid reasons he did have to call me over. *** I tried walking out of my room with my determination on something.

My ribs bent inward and then snapped outward again, my whole body convulsing. My fingers curled in on themselves, nails lengthening into claws that split the skin at their base. My legs shook before twisting unnaturally, the joints breaking and reforming with loud, sickening pops. I dropped to my knees, my teeth grinding against one another until they pushed out into sharp fangs.

Artemy My knuckles cracked when my fist made contact with his face. The sound was deafening in the silent room. I didn’t feel anything, and the poor bastard at the receiving end of my furious fist was whimpering in pain. When I pulled away and sat down on the chair, he looked at me through swollen eyes. His cracked lips were bleeding profusely, and his cheeks were red and oozing with blood from several cuts. They weren’t deep, but they were enough to cause him blinding pain.

Ava’s eyes widened, and I stood still. “W…who the hell…” I said as I reached for the handle. I opened it, and to my surprise, Nikky stood there, eyes swollen from too much crying. Her lips were also swollen, and her face looked messy. This was how she always looked whenever she had cried too much, especially after we had misunderstandings or serious issues that almost affected our relationship.