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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
“Sorry about the blood on your jacket, but again, no, this hat is not for Melbourne Cup Day, it’s for keeping the burning sun off of my head.”
She prodded her heart, watching it pump the blood around her chest cavity, and thought “if this is real, I think I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip,” I said into the phone, “and yes, I know it’s supposed to be blood from a stone, but we’re well past that stage, don’t you think; besides, I’ve never been any good with either the legalities or the metaphors surrounding the crushing of the individual spirit, although I kind of like the song Money For Nothing by Dire Straits, if that’s any help - but it’s not, is it?”
As Tammy glared at the blood stains on her new jacket, she couldn’t help but think back to the painful incidents that preceded the engine-oil stained ‘new’ jacket and the train-track-grease stained ‘new’ boots and she found herself wondering just how many coincidences needed to stack up before something bad happened.
Miss Jane stalked the low-lit streets, draped in stained and bloody clothes, ranting “retribution for the innocent and fallen” to herself, knowing that this time she would find Lady Luck and she would make her pay.
A young Miss Jane watched from under a desk as the angry, blood-splattered man sprayed bullets into the air and yelled “I told you when I finally lost it, that you would be the first to go!”
The elegant but enraged woman lined up the grey, bitter and utterly soulless entities against the wall and smiled unnervingly as she slowly unveiled her first implement of mayhem and blood.
Miss Jane wiped the splatters of blood and carvings of pumpkin from her broadsword, and, lifting the madwoman’s head from the ground, she looked into her dull eyes and said “I promised another that I would end your pain, so I hope you can consider this a civic duty.”
To overcome her fear of blood, Dr. Dickens recommended Lynn become a heart surgeon.
As Miss Jane neatly pressed closed each little labeled plastic bag, she continued her polite explanation to the lady still lying partly on the floor, “...and, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned already, not only was that conversation highly inappropriate for a workplace, it is certainly not even an appropriate conversation for anywhere other than one’s own home… oh, dear, I appear to have dropped blood on your shoe.”
Both men and women should shave closely, being extra careful not to knick themselves as the scent of blood tends to excite many auditors; menstruating women should always reschedule.
I know it’d look like blood if I got cut, but it feels more like synthetic moonlight pumping through my veins at this time of night.
It surprised everyone when red ink poured out of the editor’s stab wound.
I recall wearing a white dress, then came the pig blood; vengeance was mine.
Blood is thicker than water; but it can’t quench your thirst.
Son, it's time you knew, you have some African blood in you... or maybe it's Eye-talian, one of those, probably.
The first sign of trouble was when she began to bleed neon green.
After spending several hours upside down with his arm wedged between body panels, shredding knuckles and cramping fingers, Juan finished tightening all the impossible-to-reach nuts... and then noticed the convenient access panel inside the engine compartment.
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