Dried Blood On Concrete 소설 & 이야기

The image sharpened but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Theo pulled the frame wider. That’s when I saw it. There,” he said quietly. At the edge of the parking space, just behind the rear tyre, was a dark smear on the concrete. It was small, irregular, almost nothing. The smear had been wiped once, badly. Dragged sideways with the sole of a shoe instead of cleaned properly. He always did that. Never bothered to clean things properly off concrete. Said rain would take care of it. Said chemicals drew attention.

My shoulder was complaining and my cheek was complaining and I noted both of those complaints and looked around the ground floor space for something useful. The sofa in the small ground floor sitting area that the building maintained for residents. The low table, which had nothing on it. The corner near the window where the shadow was thickest. And on the floor near the sofa’s base, a line of dark staining that ran along the carpet in a specific direction. Bloodstains. The particular dark brown-red of blood that had dried into carpet fibres. Not a spill… a trail, the kind made by something being dragged or someone moving while bleeding.

When he stood, there was a faint streak of white powder on his fingertips. I frowned. "What is that?" He rubbed it between his fingers. "Construction dust." I looked around. There wasn't a construction site anywhere nearby. He noticed my confusion. "This car has been somewhere else today." "How do you know?" I asked "Fresh concrete dust." Damien replied, nodding toward the tyre. “And none of the surrounding streets are under construction.” I stared at him. “You figured that out from a tyre?” Damien turned to me “I notice things.”

I tried not to slam the door shut and climbed down the stairs, my bare feet slipping on the marble. I reached the front door, took a second to mentally prepare myself for any bodies or blood I'd see and finally stepped out. My eyes half shut. There was nothing. Not even the slightest faintest drop of blood on the grounds, the gravel —certainly you can't just clean blood all over gravels in less than ten minutes can you? I glanced around me, twirling, I almost fell from the dizziness. There was not a single, slightest drop of blood or bodies, with all the gunshot that went off, they'd be dead right?

They looked exactly like the feathers that wings were made of…that Deslyan wings were made of. Jaida walked a little further, but she stopped abruptly when she saw a red liquid on the ground. She just stared at it for a moment, her mind registering exactly what it was. It was blood. There was blood everywhere now. It was splattered on the broken walls of city buildings, on the sidewalks and roads, on street signs and streetlights. It was just everywhere, touching everything. The only question on her mind, however, was whose blood it was. Unfortunately, she got her answer.

“What?” Cass pointed to the base of a nearby tree. There, half-buried in the dirt, was a streak of something dark and drying. Blood. Next to it marks. Deep ones. Scratches carved into the bark like someone, or something, had been angry. Aiden’s breath came out in a puff. “That’s not… normal.” Cass was quiet. For once, the grin was gone. He crouched, reached out like he might touch the bark, then froze.

I blinked. I stared at the mark for a second longer, then took a cautious step closer. The wooden planks creaked under my bare feet, the silence so loud it made my skin crawl. I bent down a little, squinting. That wasn’t old. It wasn’t dry. It looked smeared, like someone had tried to wipe it in a hurry and gave up halfway. My stomach twisted. Blood. It was blood.

The pavement on which she ran was cemented so it was difficult to trace if there were any traces of her footprints. Later in our search, we noticed some red spots on the road. Monica bent down to examine it. It was like a drop of blood. "Is this a drop of blood?" “No way..." Monica and I followed the few drops of blood on the pavement. Along with each step we took, we prayed that this blood would not be from Zanaya. But who am I kidding? She might have suffered worse than I could ever imagine. On our way, we stopped on our track when we noticed something written on the pavement using that red blood.

She was eager to know. Beth stood beside her and leaned in, she narrowed her eyes to better search for whatever it was she was trying to show. She couldn't at first, but she was stubborn and too curious. She leaned in further and that is when she saw it. Just beside the door's hinge was a large dry stain. It was like a splat of juice on the wall. Or was that…? "This is my son's blood." She said flatly.

My wolf shrank, curling tight inside me. The light flickered on. Rows of metal shelves stretched out, packed with frozen meat and sealed trays. The floor was bare concrete with a long drain running down the center. I dipped the brush into the bucket and scrubbed. The smell came up almost right away. Blood. Old. Deep. Soaked into the concrete like a memory that refused to fade. I froze and leaned down, ignoring the sting in my knees. I breathed in again, slower this time. Wolf blood. Blackwater blood.