Scraped Knuckles Novels & Stories

Her ankle complained, but less than when she’d been standing. Kael crouched in front of her, bracing his forearms on his thighs. From this distance, the scrapes along his knuckles and the smear of blood at his hairline were as obvious as the way his hands weren’t quite steady. He looked at her wrists first. Carefully, as if they were something fragile, and he hated that they were. “May I?” he asked. “Someone has to,” she said, offering them out. He took them gently, turning them to see the raw grooves the ropes had left. His thumb brushed lightly over unbroken skin at the edge of one, not touching the worst of it.

He nodded and submitted our evidence. It was the complete redemption record for every single scratch card from the book Mom gave me at the start of the semester. 20 minutes passed. The judge frowned and looked up. "We have verified the codes on this book of scratch cards. Indeed, everything the defendant has provided is authentic. "This book of scratch cards cost 500 dollars. The total amount scratched from it was approximately 265 dollars. You intended for the defendant to live on just over 200 dollars for an entire semester?" Mom scrambled to defend herself. "She… She has good luck. Didn't she win five million? Are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"

The timeline from when the power went out to the moment you were incapacitated. The Script Broken Sebastian looked down at his hands. The knuckles were scraped, the skin bruised a deep, ugly purple where he had attempted to strike the man in the dark. For thirty years, his hands had been his trademark—large, powerful tools that had choked out cinematic terrorists, pulled victims from burning helicopters, and punched through breakaway glass walls on a hundred different soundstages. Now, they were shaking.

“Then let me be the first to teach you how to properly lose!” The way his nails darkened and shined, I knew this wasn’t just some regular extra strong nails. In order to hit Vale, Oran needed to go over me. I took the chance and as he made a move to swipe at Vale, I clawed his wrists from below. It pushed his attack off but both Vale and I watched in surprise as the knifes edge was shorn right off. There was something far more devastating about his nails. Taking another swipe, I managed to break off a few of them but not all.

Anyone would be. Then…. A crack. A sickening, sharp crack of bone shifting beneath skin. Aleron gasped. Ronan choked. More cracks followed, loud, unnatural, echoing through the clearing. Lyanna’s eyes widened as their bodies bent, twisted, reshaped. Their screams tore through the air, raw, feral, pained yet necessary. Lyanna reached for Sebastian in panic. “Papa…!” “It’s okay,” he whispered, steadying her hand. “This is normal.”

Desperate to hold him back, to force some sliver of humanity out of him, I reach out and violently snag his right wrist. The moment my fingers wrap around his skin, I freeze. The skin across his knuckles is completely split, raw, and horribly swollen. Dark purple bruises discolor the muscle, and thick, dried tracks of dark blood are embedded deep into the cracks of his hand. It looks like he’s spent the last four days using his body to dismantle a concrete wall.

Sera My knuckles ached with a dull, heavy pulse. I looked down at my hands. The skin across my knuckles was completely split. Thick, dark blood coated my fingers, dripping slowly onto the packed dirt. It wasn't my blood. I stepped off Taya. My boots squelched in the mud we had created from frost and sweat.

"Ms. Cooper, I was wrong! Please don't shut down the daycare!" "I have my parents to care for and children at home. I can't lose my job!" "Keira, give me back my job! I'll fight you for it!" A full-scale scuffle had broken out outside. The same people who had once been united by shared interests were now tearing each other apart to avoid responsibility. It was exactly as I had anticipated. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the media vans parked below. They were still waiting to capture my downfall, eager to watch my company crumble.

Gulping ,she looks back to see she was at the edge of a step and would have fallen back if he hadn't held her. Merely nodding,she lowers her eyes to only see his knuckles all bloody. Worry covers her features as she looks up at him. "Ethan. What happened to your hand?" He follows her stare to look at his hand, to only shrug with indifference. "It's nothing." But she could see it was not just nothing. They were all bloody ,like he has punched something or rather someone continuously. Majority blood has been dried and formed a scalp ,while new blood was still escaping the cracks.

Two strangers pretending this was normal. I watched his hands as he ate. I'd noticed them the night before, in the study. Scars across his knuckles. Not fresh. Old ones, layered. Some thin and white, some thicker. The kind of hands that had hit things and been hit back. His fingers were long and precise, the way he handled the chopsticks almost elegant. But the damage underneath was hard to miss. "Your hands," I said. He kept eating. Didn't look up. "What about them."