Do Insects Bleed Novels & Stories

I had nothing left but shards to try to glue. Coming from the side garden through the wide window, a vivid ladybug landed on my hairbrush. For a fleeting moment, I observed the red that painted the insect, its wings opening as she prepared to take off, and when she left, I took a look at the head of my bed, where a sticker with that same insect was.

My blood. "My heart thudded loudly in the silence as I felt another sharp scratch on my ankle and my back. I started quivering. Then my mind went to Bella. That's true, how's she coping now?! My heart twisted in pain and worry for my little friend. Another liquid flowed down my cheeks this time. As I touched it, it was more thicker than water.Blood again? But I didn't feel any cut, or scratch, or pain either. I was too busy, worried about Bella that I didn't notice the creepy insects on my face.

Straining against Ulna’s grip, the beetle bucked again as Marcia started to slice upward toward the beast’s head, orange blood beginning to flow from the deep cut she was making. ‘Tell Marcia to steer clear of the blood, it’s called a lava beetle for a reason, they live in magma and their blood is as equally hot, so if you touch it, your skin will melt,’ Fafnir said, dashing forward to grab the beetle’s now distracted head to prevent further bucking.

No gem I know could compete with this small armoured tank of an insect. Amazing... It's an engaging sight, but I don't try to touch the beastie. For anyone interested in such things there's a lifetime's work documenting the small life around here. Personally, I prefer to keep my distance. Insects have some odd defence mechanisms and I'm a long way from any chance of a jab against blood poisoning or anaphylactic shock. So instead, I watch the shimmering sapphire-emerald little creature struggle through moss and leaves, then with a buzz, launch itself upwards and whirr away, a blue-green ripple in the night until, as it leaves the small circle of light cast by my lamp, it vanishes.

Once he calmed down from his mirth, he wiped the remnants of happy tears on his eyes before facing me, his face flushed and eyes still quite wet. “Sorry, that just sounds so funny coming from you,” he chuckled. “Do you know what a mosquito is?” Frowning, I tried to think what it could be. Nothing came up, so I just shook my head in response. He grinned. “It’s an insect, a small animal that sucks blood.”

I'm nothing to them! With the room empty, I surge towards Bryce's unconscious form on the bed, carefully extracting the bloated leeches and placing the creatures into a jar the quack doctors left, filled with other parasites. Gross! Bryce's skin color is still pale, and there are new wounds are on his inner-arms, caused by the fucking blood-letting. Fucking idiots! I check his pulse, the heart rate is fast and erratic, and his skin is hot. Goddammit!

"I bleed purple too." Mortified, I watch as a thin strip of purple blood falls from her nose. "You can't tell anyone about this, okay? No one else an know I bleed like this," I tell her, grabbing her shoulders tightly to shake her. She doesn't look frightened, letting her nose bleed all over her. "Do you understand." Pulling my hands back, I realise I've imprinted blood from my hands al l over her dress, black or not. Stumbling back, I look around. No one else is here, but she could easily report that to someone.

I think I might have broken a bone. Putting my hand to the part of my arm I could feel the pain on, I felt something like a liquid flow on it, and I was instantly sure it was blood. Blood! Soon as I realized that it could be blood, it immediately got me scared. It could give my identity away. Some wild animals could attack me because of that. Those bloody rogues could easily sniff out my scent too. The thought of that instantly got me crying. All the tears I have been holding in for a while back now, I let them out freely.

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'

Each extraction was brutal, a little surgery on living flesh, Blood—thicker and darker—welled up in the neat holes punctured into his collarbone and ribs. It pooled in the hollows, dark and thick, staining the whiteness of his skin and the cold surface beneath him. Don’s agonized sounds, a guttural growl mixed with muffled shouts, filled the room, echoing off the sterile walls like a grim symphony. “Grr, Grr, Grr,” he rasped, voice strained and trembling, as if fighting against an unseen force clawing him from within.