Mike Perry Spitting Blood Novels & Stories

Although now coagulated and mostly dry, it's still unmistakeably someone's blood. Roger Drumlin's blood. He looks at it straight for about a minute, before bursting into a loud raucous laughter. "Wow! What the fuck! This is a big blow to Crazy Mike... How is the man even going to react to finding out he's now a full orphan? No family at all anywhere... I'm almost feeling bad for him." He suddenly stops talking.

That light was too pure and bright, revealing me for who I was. The filth churning inside me was something detestable and loathsome. It was so overwhelming that I did not dare to touch it. After it happened a few times, Ethan developed stomach problems. When I was not paying attention, he would endure the pain silently with his brows tightly furrowed. He was too afraid to let me find out and never told me. It was not until one morning, after staying up all night to care for me, that he fainted from the pain at his office. That was when I realized just how severe his condition had become.

“Whose gun is that?” “Don’t ask,” said Tommy, collapsing back. “You better just—I’m not gonna make this one, dude.” “Malarkey. Let’s move it.” “I don’t think so.” Truitt gestured at his legs. “They quit working on me.” Richard lifted him again, and inhaled sharply. The ground underneath was crimson with blood loss. Seeped through the back of Tom’s shirt, expanding red and wet. Crimson in the snow. “Caught one of Prick-we’s slugs, I think,” Tommy said. “Can’t feel much.”

I stepped in and the first thing I saw was Monika sitting at one of the chair on the opposite wall to the bed, holding her head between her hand, silently sobbing as tears dripped down to the floor. Bear was standing by the office door, his arms cross and his shoulders tense. I slowly looked over to the bed and the breath left my lungs. Mike, the warrior who had survived the attack on the night we stopped the three trucks, was laying on the bed, his glassy, bloodshot eyes looking up at the ceiling. There was a while foam bubbling out of his mouth, dripping down the corner of his lips. Blood was running down from his nose to the side of his cheeks, streaming out in different branches.

Immediately I brought it to my ear, I heard Hera's shrill voice. "Tik! Tok! Time is running out!" She laughed and the line went dead. I dropped the phone on the nightstand, annoyed. Mikael was shivering and his lips had turned blue. He looked too pale, it scared me. He suddenly started to cough painfully and when he leaned over the edge of the bed, he coughed up blood. I didn't want to cry. I wouldn't give Hera the satisfaction. I was so mad about the fact that she was torturing my husband so ruthlessly.

The stench of the dying man's blood brought back memories of what he had done as he stared at him. His senses were stimulated by the bright red blood as he looked at the very real-looking corpse. He was so sickened by the fact that he had killed the pursuer with his own hands that his stomach turned and he threw up. Mike finished his work and collapsed to the ground, exhausted and weak. His face was covered in snot and tears, making him appear silly and messy. "Are you finished now?" He instinctively raised his head in response to the harsh voice next to him.

Mike looked back into my eyes with a loving and relieved look. It was then that I leaned into him and placed my cheek on his chest. I started to run my hands up his arms to wrap them around his neck to pull him closer did I feel something sticky. I pulled my hand back and lifted my head and saw blood on my fingers. “Mike.” I looked at him in panic. “You’re shot.” “I’m fine Angel.” He chuckled as he shook his head. “Let’s go home.” “Home.” I said with a longing feeling. I couldn’t wait to be home and put all this behind us and start a new life.

Blood was dripping from his hair into his eyes, nearly blinding him with frustration and fury. He grabbed a staff member roughly by the arm. "What the hell is wrong with you people?!" he shouted. "Someone better find out who did this or there'll be hell to pay!" The terrified staff member stammered apologies but could offer no answers. Mike shoved him away in disgust. He stormed over to Tiffany again, red-faced and trembling with rage. "This was our day!" he yelled. "Our special celebration, ruined by some sick joke." Tiffany looked up at her husband, tears mixing with the blood on her cheeks. "I know," she sniffled. "I just want to go home and forget this ever happened."

“Well, he’s here,” Alexander told Dr. Blanc and hung up. “Let him in,” he instructed. With his clothes wrinkled and dirty, Mike looked so messy that those unfamiliar with him might not be able to recognize him. Mike practically threw himself inside when the car door opened. He snapped, “How could you, Alex?! I passed on the news to you, but you let them lock me up! “What do you take me for? A guinea pig? Who the hell were those people? They took my blood and ran tests on me as if I was infected with the virus. What the f*ck was that all about?”

I watched as my dad’s eyes filled with fear. “Dad, do you know how Mike became mentally impaired? I hit him with a rock, over and over again. He was in so much pain, and the blood stained all the corn stalks red.” His teeth ground together, trying to speak, but he could only cough up large amounts of blood. “And did you really think your precious grandson’s death was an accident? Mike threw him into the river when he was having an episode. He struggled desperately in the water while Mike laughed on the shore.