How To Get Festering Bloody Finger นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I could use them. I closed my eyes again and focused. The shift came slowly—only one finger. I extended my claw on my right index finger. It grew long, sharp, and black. I pressed it against the soft spot. I started scratching. It hurt. The claw bent slightly against the stone, sending sharp pain up my finger. But the cement gave way—slowly, bit by bit. I kept going. Scratching. Piercing. Digging. Twenty minutes passed. My finger bled. My hand shook. Sweat ran down my face. But I did not stop. I could not stop.

I say in a scared whisper, pushing at her shoulders. She pricks the tip of her finger and blood pools at the small puncture. Tears well in my eyes as she brings her bleeding finger under my nose. I push aside the strong urges from nearly a week of no blood. I gingerly take her finger in my mouth and close my eyes to the sweet metallic liquid. I suck her finger until my saliva seals her small wound.

Pulling them out, the burning sensation turned into complete numbness. My eyes looked in wonder at the viscous mess that covered my fingers. The thick black slime started to move and crawl up my fingertips. Suddenly, I realized that I hadn’t found it. It had called to me and like an idiot, I’d given it exactly what it wanted. All the times Sophie and Fiona warned me ran through my mind as I frantically tried to wipe the slime off my hand.

Five spots of blue at the tips of her long fingers. He caught her scent. The smell of curdled blood and sick flesh. The stench of crumbling teeth and a bladder that leaked sour piss. The skin on her fingers had shrunk to the bone, the knuckles round and swollen. And her body was turning white, too white, and looked cold. Every breath from her made his eyes water and his stomach jump.

That should do. I honestly miss the old Derrick. I lay on my bed crying myself to sleep as I hold the cold bottle against my heavy cheek. Derrick's POV; I adjust myself in my bed to a more comfortable position pulling my blanket over my body. I move my hands under my head and a foreign feeling engulfs my fingers. I lazily pull my eye lids apart to view the warm substance on my fingers. Just then do I see what has smeered my fair fingers. Blood! I raise my fingers up to my head and I feel a stinging sensation. Like the one you get when sweat slides into a wound.

Pouring some water in the sink I start washing the first cup when I begin to feel funny, something is going on in my body and I have to hold on to the sink with one hand. My fingers start to hurt really bad and the cup I was holding in my hand gets crushed in my palm, seeing the water get coated red when suddenly long, sharp claws slip out from my fingers and everything around me is coated in a golden color. It's painful and I can't hold on to the sink any longer when I fall back to the ground with a thud. Hearing heavy footsteps rushing over to where I'm laying in pain on the floor and trying to get some air down my lungs. Holding my jaw shut tight to prevent myself from screaming out the p

It dropped with a thud on the chopping board. One of my fingers had a cut on it, droplets of blood oozing out of it and smearing the wooden surface of the chopping board. The crimson liquid wouldn't stop flowing out of my finger, increasing the throbbing sensation that lingered beneath the slash. I sucked my teeth, biting down on my lip to submerge the whimpers that threatened to elude me. I pushed the chopping board aside and switched on the faucet, allowing the cold water to wash off the blood.

He mutters under his breath and walks back to his room. I peel off the oversize jacket and make my way into the small kitchen to prepare dinner. But, it is so hard to concentrate when all that I see in my mind’s eye is the James mother. I don’t know what kind of state I would find my pack when I get back, and now all my effort are proving futile. Sudden pain brings me back to the present. I look down at my hand to see blood flowing out of my index finger. “Fuck.” I hiss, hurriedly dipping my hand into a bowl of water. The content of the bowl turns red immediately. My stomach churns when I see the exposed bone of my finger. I sigh, another scar.

He steps forward. I try to brace myself, but my left hand is taped to the arm of the metal chair and four of the fingers are bent at angles that make my stomach heave. They snapped the index and middle fingers first. Then the ring. Then the pinky. The swelling is so bad the skin looks shiny, stretched tight and turning a sickening mottled purple. He doesn't go for the hands this time. He just drives his fist directly into my stomach again. The air violently leaves my lungs.

Grabbing onto whatever I can reach to help me onwards when my eye starts stinging insanely like it's being glued shut with something thick and warm. Grabbing at my face, smearing it to try and wipe it away, and making it worse, I catch the undeniable scent of blood and curse those damn ferals for making me bleed. I trace into my scalp where I must have collided with something in the water, and can’t do anything except rub my eye furiously while stumbling into the dark and trying to find a place within hopping distance to hide.