Ruddy Skin Novels & Stories

Ripping my thick cloth off, I started with my neck. My nails mercilessly dug at my skin, scratching the flared red spots. I was sobbing at this point, not caring of any one would hear me. My dress went next. I dropped the brown leather dress down on the floor and scratched every bit of my skin that I could reach. It was frustrating. The pain was unimaginable. Every time I scratch on a red spot, I would feel relief for a mere second before it flares back, forcing me to scratch at it even more.

"Um, Mrs. Ford, I...I used to bully you, and you-you are still so nice to me. Orchid Beauty's luxury skin care can go up to tens of thousands of dollars per set, and you are just giving it to me?" Sabrina shrugged with a casual smile. "I have allergies and the scent of those products is a little bit overbearing to me, so I have no use for them. It's just a waste to just keep it around when I'm not using it. I noticed you have bags under your eyes the past two days, so I figured you should have them instead." Ruth held the bag of skin-care products close against her chest. "Thank you, thank you so much, Mrs. Ford," she muttered gratefully.

The fat man's arrogance escapes his voice and stutters while he asks, "You mean this girl is sick?" "Yeah. She has an inherited or acquired skin condition that occurs when the skin doesn't shed its dead skin cells. This causes dry, dead skin cells to accumulate in patches on the surface of the skin. It's also known as "fish scale disease" because the dead skin accumulates in a similar pattern to a fish's scales," he explains. The man reveals his disgust by harshly getting rid of Amira's wrist. The murmurs soon diminish when they hear what the "doctor" says. Amira even hears one of the nosy women says, "Let's go. We might get her illness."

That's just the face. The body itself is even worse. Blood is pouring onto the ground in a giant puddle. It’s blackened and some of it has dried onto the ground. Not only is it in the puddle but it’s splattered all around the area in arcs. The chest has been skinned alive and the skin is completely missing. There is no sign of it. All we see is the muscle and bones that lay underneath it. The sternum and ribs are cracked open wide.

I think he might be the first warrior who has smiled at me. When I put the skin scrapings under the microscope, it’s definitely silver. ‘Quirin, the patrol routes have silver on them. They’re burning our patrols’ paws and it's causing blisters and making their hands and feet raw.’ ‘Since when?” he asks. I walk back into the room and ask Randall how long he’s noticed this problem.

"Dr. Fisher, could you please diagnose him first? He's burning up." Erik awkwardly coughed and approached, examining the rash on Thaddeus' body. "Mr. Holt, do you have this rash only on your neck, or do you have it elsewhere on your body?" Thaddeus scratched his arm, feeling itchy all over. "I don't know, probably all over. My arms itch too." "Could you take off your clothes and let me have a look?" Thaddeus didn't hesitate to do so. Since Erik was also a man, he propped himself up with determination and took off his shirt without hesitation. Then he asked, "Do I need to take off my pants?"

It leaves a yellow stain on your skin if you stand under the eaves too long, a physical reminder that the sky above the Mainland has to clear its throat through a layer of industrial smoke before it can breathe. My bare feet sank four inches into the wet, dark mud of the Niger Delta bank. The texture was startling—cold, gritty, and filled with tiny fragments of river shells that bit into the soft skin of my arches. The pixelated gray that had threatened to dissolve my shins in Geneva was completely gone, replaced by the heavy, solid ache of real muscle and real bone. The skin of my knuckles was raw, bleeding a dark, thick red that didn't smoke or glow violet. It just dripped, the iron-rich f