The Consistency of Blood

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Michelle fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. Silent cries for help formed on her lips as she struggled to make a sound. Her blood was warm against her fingers and thicker than she imagined it would be.

Had she ever imagined about the consistency of her blood? Michelle was unsure.

Regardless, the red drip, drip, dripped onto the pavement as her attacker rifled through her purse.

‘He’s not even waiting for me to die,’ Michelle thought, animosity bubbling inside her towards the assailant.

how irksome, she mused to herself as she faded, my husband described Stabsville as a utopia.

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~ by Joseph Blame on July 13, 2010.

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