Speck Of Blood In Stool Mga Nobela at Kwento

The urge to vomit overwhelmed me. I struggled to walk to the bathroom. My vision blurred. When I finally reached the bathroom, I collapsed in front of the toilet. Blood spilled from my mouth. My eyes widened. Frozen in shock. Throwing up blood could only mean one thing: The person is dying. And in my case, it meant I was dying. Panic set in. Fear gripped my heart. How could this be happening? Now, of all times.

I take deep breaths, and head over to the bathroom. In the cold fluorescent light, I lean against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. My reflection stares back at me, pale and puffed, my eyes rimmed with exhaustion. I reach for a new tampon, bracing myself for the familiar routine, but as I pull the used one free, my stomach clenches. It’s barely covered with blood. Just streaks of brownish red. My heart skips a beat, a cold weight settling in my chest. Spotting. Oh, no.

Steven had spat a mouthful of blood. After spitting the blood out, Steven's tall figure fell to the ground. "Mr. Cook! Someone, save him!” Maisy's screams of panic echoed in the villa. When Irene heard the news, she rushed to the hospital. Maisy was standing at the door of the emergency room and rubbing her hands anxiously. When she saw Irene, she immediately cried, "He was fine before that, but after receiving a call, he started vomiting blood." Hearing that Steven had vomited blood, Irene was also horrified. She held Maisy's hand and comforted her, "It's okay, everything will be fine!”

The force of it was overwhelming, and my stomach ached as if it was being wrung dry, tears welling up in my eyes from the intensity of it all. As I finally finished heaving and caught my breath, a sense of temporary relief washed over me. But then, glancing into the toilet before flushing, I noticed something alarming. My stomach dropped at the sight; it wasn’t just normal vomit it was tinged with blood. A pang of fear shot through me, the image searing into my mind. My heart raced, and for a moment, panic was about to take over. Trying to calm down, I took a deep breath, telling myself that my throat was probably just irritated from the constant vomiting.

I search the crowd everywhere, then I spotted him seating on a chair with hands on his face. I sigh in relief and walk to him, but when he look up I gasp, he had blood running down his right nostril. "Fuck!" "Ugh... Zack everywhere is spinning." He groan. I looked around but no one was watching, I help him up into the restroom. He started puking blood, "holy shit!" I started panicking. "What did you drink?!" "I just took a sip of a cocktail then I felt sick." "Dammit!"

And promptly begin to throw up. I’ve never vomited blood before, but the sink is now stained with it. My belly is burning, as if a thousand knives are stabbing me on the inside. Clutching the edge of the sink, I try to stay upright as I empty the entire contents of my stomach. The blood is a dark color. In between throwing up and ignoring the pounding on the door, I stared dimly at the clots of blood. It’s not a dark red. It’s black. I’m vomiting black blood.

However… He felt his stomach contracting just after taking two steps, and soon after, he felt blood rushing up to his throat. He could smell the iron as he audibly spat out a mouthful of blood. He had no control over it, however, as he threw up all over. “Bro!” Alarmed, Nial rushed over to hold on to him, anxiously saying, “You’re spewing out blood everywhere! I’m sending you to the ER!” Oh, dear!

“Oh, God! I can still taste his blood in my mouth!” He doubled over, puking all over the floor. Thick, dark red chunks splattered all over the floor, getting flecks of it all over the fabric of my pants. I don’t want to look, but I couldn’t close my eyes, I couldn’t back away. I saw partially digested blood, tiny pieces of cloth, like from a shirt or something, and a gold band that matches the one on Antonio's finger. Antonio saw it and his eyes went wide. Bloody spit dribbled down his chin and his hands were shaking.

His complexion no longer looked ashen, but his quite blanched lips and fingernails still worried me. "No." Miles left me by the door and rushed back to the sink. For the next seconds, his head hung low, and he kept retching, like he was choking on something. I stood behind him and kept his hair away from his face. I watched him throw up nothing but a splodge of clear saliva. It looked sticky and thick. "Just stay by the door," he mumbled in between retching noises. The sound just made me mull over some things I still had no clear answers to. "You need tests, a blood panel. Did you see a specialist?"

The sting came first, just as I sat down to pee. By the time I stood, the pain had bloomed into panic. Bright red. The color mocked me, painting the porcelain bowl like a silent alarm. Bold, unapologetic. Terrifying. “Oh my God…” I gasped, staring down in disbelief. “I’m not supposed to bleed. Not now.” I leaned in closer, hoping I was wrong. Hoping it was a mistake. But the truth stared back at me, vivid and cruel. Blood. Not just a spot. A warning. Like the child inside me had cried out, snapped, and given up.