Writing Injuries Novels & Stories

Ink bled from the words I’d written, seeping into the ground, the shelves, the very air. I forced my hand up again. “LIMITED DAMAGE,” I scrawled, sloppier this time, across a torn piece of floorstone, my handwriting almost illegible with the shaking. The letters glowed and then shot off into the maze of shelves like runners carrying a message. Every hit my people took from that moment on—the drone that clipped Selene’s side, the ghost that slammed into Corvin’s head, the wolf that sank its teeth into Jax’s forearm—still hurt

It was just that with so many people, and their attention on Candice and Hanley, no one had noticed him. The person playing with the sparkler seemed to have chosen it quite well, as it was quite thick. The burn on Alex's hand extended from his wrist to his palm, and because it wasn’t treated immediately, it had begun to swell. Sieg took a picture with his phone, and Alex looked at him coldly. Sieg explained. "With injuries like this, you should at least ask for medical expenses and compensation for mental anguish, right?" - After Hanley’s examination results came out and the doctor confirmed there were no major issues, they could return to the villa.

Her oversized sweater hung heavily from her frame, making her look even smaller beneath the cold lighting overhead. Yet despite obvious exhaustion, she kept working. She blinked several times, struggling briefly to focus on the screen before shaking her head sharply and continuing to type. My chest tightened unexpectedly. My gaze drifted downward as she reached toward one of the open books beside her. Then her sleeve shifted slightly. I went completely still. Bruised knuckles. Split skin hidden beneath frayed athletic tape. For several seconds, I simply stared. The injuries were not accidental. The damage carried the unmistakable signs of repeated impact, the kind caused by someone striking

She gave her attention back to Patrick, finding that he had a strange smile on his face. She muttered harshly, realizing what he was thinking, “You’re reading the room too much here.” He laughed, “Oh dear, my glasses must be failing.” “Back to the matter. What about her exam?” He twirled with the pen in his hand, “There’s no long-term injuries. I gave her some medication and a cream to relieve the pain. I found some minor abrasive wounds on her body but nothing to worry about. This was due to—” “

Daimon’s eyes burned with a sharp intensity, daring him to say the wrong thing. The doctor took a steady breath before responding carefully, sensing Daimon’s unrelenting scrutiny. "Mr. Blackwood, the amount of blood was misleading. The majority came from a single head wound. She’s an exceptional driver—at the critical moment, she minimized the impact, avoiding catastrophic injuries. While the accident looked severe, the actual damage was not as extensive as it seemed. We ran thorough checks, twice. Apart from the leg fracture, the rest are superficial wounds. And as for the forehead injury, we’ve treated it meticulously—there won’t be any scarring. You can rest assured."

The injury was deep, almost to the bone, and the blood flowed freely from the wound, forming a crimson pool on the cold, stone floor. The blood seemed to pulsate with every beat of Liam's heart, like a grotesque reminder of his own mortality. The wound throbbed with a fiery pain that shot up his arm, making it difficult to use his hand. His fingers felt numb and unresponsive as if they belonged to someone else. Despite the agony, Liam refused to stop.

Lorraine Lebedeva "Ms. Preobrazhensky is suffering from TBI, traumatic brain injury. Her current state from the wound is penetrating when the projectile enters the cranium, but does not exit." The doctor explained, as he went through Katina's medical files. Dante squeezed my shoulder out of comfort. I gave him a small smile, and sighed.

a wave of relief washed over me, soothing every fiber of my being. "Oh, thank God..." I whispered. "Unfortunately, the extent of his injuries is quite severe, which means that the healing process will be a slow and arduous journey," he explained. At that moment, I couldn't help but hold my breath as his words sank in. "His injuries include a fractured voice box, a broken nose, a dislocated jaw, a fractured right orbital eye socket, a fractured posterior right third rib, a fractured sternum, as well as multi-focal bruising on his thigh and right arm."

I'm assuming he can tell I'm getting quite agitated because he starts to get to the main point, my injuries. He names everything from my lacerations around my forehead, due possibly from the airbags, to the broken ribs, all the way down to my sprained ankle. I don't correct him when he guesses I may have tripped and fell before getting in the car to begin with. I was pretty wasted.

I pulled away from his lips, breathless. “You are hurt.” I whispered, worried about his injuries. There are not much wounds other than the deep cut on his forehead and some abrasions across his shoulders which had painted his shirt crimson. However, I knew better, the bruises are nothing in front of the injuries he would get every day in his line of business.