Dried Blood On Concrete Novels & Stories

He was talking about his wife here, whose life could be taken at any time. He felt his shoes get caught on a thorn as he started to walk once again. He felt uncomfortable because of it. When he activated his torchlight and flashed it on the stick he had stepped on, blood was seen on it. He gave it a thorough inspection and observed the suspiciously dense layer of dried leaves on the ground. Dry leaves could only be found there. With his legs, Din strewn the leaves. Yet again, he could see more blood, and when he knelt down to touch it, he found that it was still fresh.

He is talking about his wife here, whose life could be taken at any time. He felt his shoes get caught on a thorn as he started to walk once again. He felt uncomfortable because of it. Blood was found on the stick when he activated his touch light and flashed it on the object he had stepped on. He gave it a thorough inspection and observed the suspiciously dense layer of dried leaves on the ground. Dry leaves could only be found there. With his legs, Din strewn the leaves. Yet again, he could see the blood, and when he knelt down to touch it, he found that it was still fresh.

My plants knocked over, soil spilled like dark stains across the tiles. And right there in the middle of the chaos— blood. Dried. Dark. A small patch near the counter. I wasn't sure if that had been mine or my attackers. I don't think I wanted to find out. I stood frozen for a second, staring at it. My throat went dry. It wasn’t much. Just a smear, like someone had scraped a hand or dragged something heavy across the floor. Still, my stomach twisted. I didn't know the struggle was this bad. But how could I have known?

This was supposed to be simple, I remind myself. Just clean up the mess. Get rid of the evidence. But as I pick up the bucket and step out of the bathroom, my legs feel heavy, like I’m wading through thick hot tar. The smell hits me before I even see the stain. It’s faint but metallic, sharp enough to turn my stomach. And when I see it—the dried blood on the hardwood floor—something inside me snaps. My knees buckle as I drop the bucket to the floor, staring at the mess. Elizabeth’s blood.

But then, there were new terms to our relationship, so I pulled her back and pointed the spot out to her. She froze as we stared at the tarred floor of the driveway in the drizzle of rain. I dug my phone out, turning on the flashlight, and my breath caught at the sight even as I leaned down. This was blood, but from the rumble in the sky, there would be a downpour and by morning all traces of this would be gone. I took pictures of it, and asked if Olivia had q-tips in her purse. Women often carried niceties like that around.

But I'll be praying for them, especially Mark. After Mark dropped me off at home, I noticed Terry's Ferrari parked in front of my house. I took a step when I found something red on the floor. Carefully crouching down, I tapped the red liquid on the tip of my finger and rubbed it. It has the scent of melted iron. Blood.

°°° Cleaning his wounds were easy, but when I tried to take his basketball shorts off he stirred so I stopped. I washed all the blood away and cleaned the porch as best I could and same goes for the floor in the house. Washing blood of wooden floors is difficult, especially since the wood soaked a bit of the blood here and there. I tried to dry Raúl off with a towel but it just didn't seem to work. There were still bits of red in his light brown hair, and there were still blood splotches all over his body.

I placed the jacket on the ground where the golden rays of sunlight touched the floor boards and I saw the dried blood start to liquefy before it evaporated into thin air. I adjusted the jacket in the sunlight, careful not to get my skin under it wincing on accidental sun burns which was happening very often because of my haste. Once I had disintegrated all the blood off my jacket, I took of the black jeans I wore and did the same. Most of the blood on the jeans was on the back of it so that was the parts I concentrated on.

Nothing at all. I forced my eyes to scan the area once again. I had no idea what I was searching for, but I just knew I would know. Barely seconds after the thought had registered itself in my mind, something caught my attention. It was blurry at first, but then I saw it. Blood. Splattered across the ground in erratic patterns, almost as if the people involved had struggled for a while. It's metallic scent hit me square in the nose, and I saw it was streaked across the driver’s side door. It was still wet too.

The perfect front for a body dump spot. Jackson stoops down and probes his finger into a dark substance on the ground, examining it. He turns pale and heaves. My heart stops again. I immediately know. It’s blood. Everybody circles the small pool of dense black-red liquid drained into the dirt. Please let it not be their blood. Please, please, please. A blood trail leaves a distinct route to the small room as if something bloody was dragged through the dirt. It’s like deja vu ― almost the same pattern as the one from years ago, in our hallway.