Tag: Hemorrhagic

HEMORRHAGIC: Blood in the Valley By Nan Ressue

Word Count 492
Blood in the Valley
By Nan Ressue
Guns were always a part of our family life from the beginning. Dad loved hunting with his whole heart which originated with many happy days in the woods with the men of the family .Bringing down his first deer as a teenager resulted in shouts of excitement and claps on the back from his father and uncles for the boy who had just joined the manly ranks of the clan.
“Great shot son”, praised his father,
“Look at that rack on that critter. What a trophy!” his favorite uncle chimed in.
As a young man, he went to work in the Remington test lab and got to shoot firearms every day, take them home and try them out until satisfied with their performance. He tried valiantly to instill the thrill of firearms in my brother and I , challenging us in target practice, races to see who could reassemble a hand gun the quickest, and finally, the first tentative hunting trip into the woods .
“Get your sleep tonight boys. We’re off early tomorrow morning”, he reminded us.
“Dad,” my brother Sam said quietly,” I really don’t want to go. It makes me want to vomit.”
Turning to look at him with both disappointment and disgust he said, “What are you? Some kind of sissy? When did you turn into a gutless wonder?” Looking at me to save the day, he continued, “This will be something you’ll be proud of. Anyway, I’ll need you to come along and help me drag it back to the car if we get lucky.”
I decided to pacify my parent and agreed to go along but my brother wouldn’t.
Trying to whip up enthusiasm he said,” Come on Joe. It’s a beautiful day to be in the woods. And you Sam, just stick around so you can help us butcher when we get back.”
It didn’t take Dad very long to get his shot and bring down a big buck not too far from the road. We watched the victim from a short distance away as the animal thrashed its last on the ground, blood spurting from an expert head shot. When the animal was finally still, we tied a rope around his antlers and grunted our way back to the car and heaved it onto the roof, tying the trophy down securely. We drove around the neighborhood a little bit before heading to the garage to string him up and drain the blood from the carcass.
“Wait here a minute Joe. I’ll get the butcher knives out of the shed and we can get started,” he said with anticipation.
He was gone too long.
Finally, I saw my father, ashen faced and his shirt soaked with blood, framed in the doorway, holding his dead child in his arms. In a voice I hardly recognized, he said<”You know something Joe,? I shouldn’t of shamed him when he told me why he didn’t want to go.”

HEMORRHAGIC: Boy Saved During Tornado By Sally Madison

Word Count: 414

Boy Saved During Tornado
By Sally Madison

May 29, 1896 Oakville Times:

Captain Robert Bowman of the Mississippi Shipping Company, who grew up here in Oakville, saved the life of an unknown child during the recent tornado that devastated St Louis, day before yesterday.

Mrs Margaret Bowman reported: I went to the dock to greet my husband home from his two-week trip to New Orleans. He had dismissed the crew for the day, so no-one else should have been around. I was in his cabin checking his linens, as Robert checked the ropes that tied to the dock when the boat began rocking more than usual. The choppy river was becoming aggressively violent at an alarming rate. We needed too get off the boat quickly.

As I attempted to mount the gangplank as the large droplets of rain and wind had intensity as exponentially as the water had. My skirt clung to my legs and then the wind pushed me into the muddy river. I struggled back to the dock and Robert pulled me up. The wind was howling frightfully. We looked up the bank towards the new bridge and could see that the sky had become a variegation from white to green to purple and then to black. We realized we were in imminent danger, since we had seen the devastating power of a tornado previously in our lives. Robert quickly grabbed a rope and lashed me to a piling of the upper dock. The wind smashed the boat against the dock with such force that the hull split open. I screamed to Robert that I saw a young boy on the boat. He had to be a stowaway from New Orleans, and he was obviously a run-a-away, judging by the matted hair and the shabby britches. Robert ran back to the boat and grabbed the child as the boat rocked violently, They were both in great danger of being thrown overboard and fell in the hemorrhagic waters on deck. Robert pushed the child on to the dock and grappled his way out of the boat. I screamed for them to hurry. They crawled slowly, as they were facing the horrendous wind. When they managed to reach one of the upper pilings, Richard secured the child before lashing himself fast.

The child, yet to be identified, is currently recovering in Widow Bowman’s home in St. Louis.

HEMORRHAGIC: Hemorrhagic Horticulture By Maggie Robertson


Word Count: 470


Hemorrhagic Horticulture

By Maggie Robertson


Susanna got an idea.  Gazing out the car window on a rare trip, she spotted an old bed frame in someone’s yard.  At first she thought it was junk carelessly tossed out the door, but then she spotted the flowers and it clicked.

“It’s a flower bed!”

Her imagination embarked on an expedition.  Susanna was a fresh spirit, the essence of a new spring day in April.  At 9 years old, she had a talent for flowers, and brought beauty to the world around her.

She did find an old bed frame in the back shed, and a whole lot more.  Susanna created not just flower beds, but entire rooms.  She found old cooking pots and assorted bowls; these she arranged around the enamel table and old farm sink she hauled out of the shed. She planted pitcher plants, cup-and-saucer vines, chalice, cup plants, and butter-and-eggs.  She created walls for her “kitchen” with thorn apple and milkweed.

Her brothers complained a little about helping her move the heavy fixtures, but she promised the old clawfoot tub would be the last item she would ask them to move.  She delineated the bathroom with outhouse hollyhocks.  The old bathroom sink hosted powderpuff aster and floss flower; the tub was filled with soapwort and had a single mammoth sunflower grow up to create a showerhead.  In the commode, of course, she planted sweet peas.

Then finally came the bedroom.  She set up the bedframe, her initial inspiration for this undertaking.  With fleece vine climbing the footboard, Susanna planted blanket flower toward the bottom of the bed, and Love-in-a-puff for the pillows.  With a bit of a mischievous glint in her eye, in between these she planted Johnny Jump Up with Naughty Marrietta and Sleepy Daisy.  She grew the walls with Ruby silk lovegrass, and even put a spider flower in the corner.

Early on in her project, her father forgot himself and made an offhand comment about adding vegetables to her gardens.  Susanna was never keen about intrusions into her creative processes, and she bristled at the suggestion.  After stewing for a while she knew what she had to do. She added another room.

This last room was a representation of their killing shed, where they processed the animals they decided to eat.  She created the walls with bloody butcher corn, and splattered the room with oxheart and beefsteak tomatoes, including bloody butcher tomatoes to match the corn.  She added redder blood and bloody marrow potatoes, bull’s blood beet and early blood turnip.  To top it off, Love Lies Bleeding gushed out the door.

In late August when all the rooms were mature with full-grown vegetation, the effect was spectacular.  For his part, Susanna’s father made yet another mental note to restrain from ever again making suggestions for his daughter’s projects.

HEMORRHAGIC: This Story is Not Hemorrhagic by Claire Robertson


Word Count: 276


This Story is Not Hemorrhagic

By, Claire Robertson
“You might want to put these on first though.”  Frozen Flame handed them each a black wristband with a sixth of a large silver circle on it.  “What’s this?” Saphria inquired.  “A shield.  You’ll need it.”  They stepped out of the cave and into a jungle.  They walked until they came to a small stream, at which four seven year olds were standing.  They appeared to be arguing over something.  One of the girls, the one that was yelling the most, burst into flame.  “Um, that girl just caught fire.” Magnus said.  “Are you going to do something about that?”  “No.” Frozen Flame said.  “She does that all the time.  It’s no big deal.”  “Ok…” They passed the children when Frozen Flame threw out an arm and whispered, “Stop!”  Then she yelled “Annalaya!  I know you’re there!”  A girl about the same age as Frozen Flame dropped out of a tree.  “How did you know?” she inquired sharply, but she was smiling.  She had bright red hair and eyes that were perfectly round and the same blue as the bottom of the ocean.  And she had horns.  They were vaguely hand-shaped and were a light lilac color deepening to a blue only slightly lighter then her eyes at the outside.  “You’re always waiting for me.  And you dropped something.”  Frozen Flame held up a dagger with a gem-studded handle.  “Come on!  I’m always dropping that!”  Smiling, she took the weapon.  “Come on!  You’ve been away for so long!  Everyone’s waiting for you!”  “Everyone?”  “Well, ok.  Just me.  But Storm Chaser’s getting anxious.”  “Well,” Frozen Flame said to Magnus, Minaya, and Saphria.  “Let’s go meet the others!”

HEMORRHAGIC: Missing Link By Sharon Collins

Week 11/12 Words: Hemorrhagic/Translucence
Word Count 356
Missing Link
By Sharon Collins
Back dropped by a sky full of diamonds, an adolescent female Australopithecus afarensis cowers high amid the green translucence magically conjured by a full Ethiopian moon. The serene beauty belies the furious hammering of her half-human heart. Never in her twelve years has she been so afraid. It prowls beneath her. Carnivorous and thrumming. Patiently awaiting her inevitable descent.
The gray-green twilight has lengthened into silvery night. The moonlight allows her to see its shadow, pacing still. Her upper body, although still more suited to treetop living, is tiring. Her leathery, elongated fingers are fatigued from gripping the smooth-barked branch for hours. Her lower body, so recently evolved for bipedal locomotion, has reached the end of its endurance, muscles burning and cramped, tendons and ligaments tightening, twitch with pain. Her apelike jaws ache, clenched against an evolving understanding. Alerted by her call of alarm, they have scattered to safety, abandoning her. She gives a final hoarse cry for help. None of the clan returns to her aide. The unlucky lookout, she has been left utterly alone, trapped, the next sacrifice to the harsh god of evolution.
Her emerging intellect grasps the truth: The good of The Many outweighs the need of The One. She is heartened to know that her mother and sisters, cousins and aunts will survive; however, being The One, activates that other universal law: Survival of the Fittest. She knows The Fittest awaits below, but she is not ready to die yet. Flexing her gluteal muscles, she considers the series of leaps necessary to carry her to safety along the tree line. Can she outpace both fangs and claws? She must try.
Gathering the last of her fading strength, she leaps, uncoiling like a spring, she stretches and catches a fistful of leaves in her left and moonlight in in her right. Silhouetted, she plummets forty feet. Upon impact, her humerus bone shatters, but it is the fracture of her first rib, her Eve-rib that does the damage. The chest trauma is hemorrhagic. Her lifeblood seeping into the soil, She who will be known as Lucy, has fallen from the sky with diamonds.

HEMORRHAGIC: The Hemorrhagic River of Humanity By G. Ackman

Word Count 452
The hemorrhagic river of humanity
by G. Ackman
“Tell us a story, grandfather.”
The young ones gathered around to hear the old one speak. He had lived through many winters and was very wise. He began:
“Once, many, many moons ago we were strong, much stronger than we are now. Our numbers filled the woods and they woods belonged to us. Brother moon lit our path and food was plentiful. We lived in peaceful harmony with the first men, the ones who knew our ways and respected us.
But then, man changed. His numbers grew faster than ours and he forgot how important it is to live in harmony with the mother of all living beings. He ripped and tore at the earth, leaving great jagged scars that wept the blood of displaced animals. The trees sighed as man cut them down to make room for himself and his ever bigger dwellings. He made the waters bitter and unhealthy. He took our food supply and then came after us.
He used cruel metal teeth to mangle our legs, and poison to twist our insides, and fire sticks to send blinding agony into us. Not because we had done anything. They just wanted our skin and beautiful plumed tails as a sign of their victory over us. To make themselves feel justified, they told tales to each other of our savageness, fearing our teeth and forgetting that we hunt only for food and that our food is not man.
Soon empty dens told the story of our losses. Brother moon cried with us as our pups died of starvation and our land became a limited place where we had to hide before the mighty machine of man.”
“What happened then, grandfather?”
“A rare few of the men became wise to the idea that our mother wants us all to have a place and they stopped some of their actions. The cruel metal teeth are rarely seen now. But it’s not enough. They still hunt us to make themselves feel powerful. That’s why we teach you to stay close. You can no longer run endlessly with your moon brother, or feel your paws rhythmically pounding over miles – the connection with your past, yourself, and the land an invisible vein reaching through your soul to the earth’s soul. Now you must stay close, hunt less often, and avoid man at all costs. He is not good for our kind.”
“Will it ever change, grandfather?”
“Brother moon says that someday man will turn the full force of his destructive instincts on himself and will then drive himself from existence like he tried to do with us and our brother creatures the Buffalo, the whales, and the giraffes. Then our mother will cry life-replenishing tears, the grasses will grow tall and strong, and the water will taste sweet again. Balance will be restored to our mother and to all of us.”

HEMORRHAGIC: The Morning After By Janie D

Week 11 HEMORRHAGIC Saga part 4
Word count 496
Introduction: A young woman had met a guy who she thought what her soul mate. At first she enjoyed the excitement she experienced with him. She even felt good about herself and learned she was capable of many things…..For a while. Then one night he had taken drugs in addition to the usual drinking binge and a switch flipped. He had beat her. The last episode left off with him huddled against the door, blocking the only exit from the apartment and holding the phone cord in his hand.
The Morning After
By Janie D
When he reached the wall, and plugged in the phone, he rolled over and once again sat leaning up against the door with his legs spread out in front of him. With trembling hands, he pressed the buttons on the phone and when the soft voice said, “Hello?” he sobbed, his tears flowing from his eyes seemingly as hemorrhagic as a nick to his jugular.
“Mom,” he said weekly. “You have to come help her! Please! ”
The confused voice at the other end of the phone told him that this wasn’t funny and that she was going to hang up.
“No Mom, please, please you have to come help her. I hurt her!” he choked out.
“What do you mean, you hurt her? How? What?” she replied, her confusion swiftly changing to concern.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” The words spouted from his trembling lips. “She said I hurt her. Mom, she looks awful. Please come help her! She needs you.”
It seemed like an eternity from the time that the phone went from hearing the soft voice coming through the speaker to the dial tone buzzing, insistently until she heard a car coming up the driveway, although it was less than a ¼ hour. All this time she had just remained as still as a statue, still in shock, but relieved that help was on the way. When she heard the steps on the stairs coming up the landing leading to the door, the terror she felt for her experience giving way to concern that the small, gentle woman who had arrived to help her. Would this tiny, soft spoken soul face danger herself for coming to her aid?
Unsteadily, he got up off the floor and opened the door. The tiny blond woman standing there looked up at him and pushed past him. She started to ask him what had happened, but before she could finish her inquiry, she froze as she saw the crumpled girl in the recliner in the corner, peering from under her blanket.
As she stepped closer to the girl who she loved like a daughter, her heart beat faster. Gently, she pulled the blanket down and could not hide the shock that overtook her from her face. The evidence of the blows from the night before was astonishing, the tear-streaked eyes were just tiny slits in the swollen face. Without a word the tiny woman helped the battered girl from the chair and supported her as they made it down the steps and to the still running car.
She disappeared back into the place where she found her eldest son, slumped in a heap on the floor. She went up into the loft bedroom and gathered a few pieces of clothing for her friend. As she closed the door behind her, she said to him, “Don’t come near her. Leave her alone!”
It was lucky for the girl that her friend was a nurse!