It starts with a tickle in your nostrils. A light sensation, no pressure or pain, just a tiny presence your breath passes over, wetting the inside of your nose. It is a dribble of mucus, you might assume, the outflow of congestion caused by a change in the seasons. You sniff, and wipe your nose with your hand or a tissue, the simple action barely registering in your conscious experience. The movement takes a couple seconds at most, and is one that you might perform dozens of times a day, never thinking twice about such an automatic response.
You feel something wet on your hand, and look down. The fluid is not colourless, as you expected, but red. As you stare, you notice the sensation of something slow and sticky pooling in the rim of your nostrils, the liquid balanced such that it might trickle out if you move too fast. Small rivulets test the edge of your philtrum, held from falling only by their own viscosity.
You pinch the sides of your nose immediately, restricting your air flow to your mouth. A few drops of blood are squeezed out, and you feel them splash on your hands and lips. The fluid left outside your nostrils begins to dry, leaving a red stain.
The bleeding doesn’t stop. You feel the pressure begin to build, veins jettisoning their cargo into the empty volume available to them. Your fingers begin to feel sticky, and when you tilt your head back, blood trickles down the back of your mouth. As you continue breathing, your throat begins to dry, and every time you swallow, you feel the pressure difference ripple through your nose.
You try to sit as still as possible, keeping your hand steady. The blood clots slowly forming tickle the inside of your nostrils, an itch that is impossible to scratch. Time passes, and you begin to wonder if you can release your hand, if the wound has been repaired. You pay attention to the minute perturbations occurring inside your nostrils, gradually shifting your grip to discern the solidity of the fluid within.
Over the course of multiple minutes, you slowly release your fingers, leaving red marks on your skin. You quickly press a tissue to the unoccupied area, catching the released drops. You wait to make sure.
Slowly, the flow resumes, a small stream pushing past the clotted blood, brushing past your nostril hairs. The gap is not yet fully sealed, and the liquid stubbornly refuses to solidify. You press your nasal cavities closed again, squirting out a small jet of clotted blood from the newly restricted place. You resign yourself to waiting longer.
As the backed-up mixture of mucus and blood drips down your throat, you are left with two options: spitting it out, or swallowing it. You tilt your head further forward to avoid the choice’s necessity, though the pressure within your nostrils becomes greater.
You distract yourself as you wait, watching videos to pass the time faster. You do not want to release your grip until you are absolutely sure the bleeding has ceased. The dryness of your throat grows worse, and drinking from a cup is near-impossible without leaning your head backwards. You attempt to use a straw, though every time you stretch your mouth or cheeks, you feel the blood shift in your nose, adapting to the altered dimensions of its prison.
Finally, after waiting for a dozen more minutes or so, you are certain. You remove your hand, wiping it off on a tissue. The ridges of your nostrils are coated in a sticky, dark red substance you check with a finger, scraping a little off. It itches.
You still cannot breathe through your nose.
Over the next half hour, the remaining blood clots together, forming a slug-like mass residing in your nose. As air begins to pass through your nostrils once more, the friction drags the slug backwards, sliding down your throat with a visceral weight and momentum.
You do not want to swallow it. So you don’t. You spit it out into your bathroom sink, watching the mass slide down the bowl slowly. It would not have fit through one of your nostrils, and you are somewhat amazed at how much volume your nose contains.
You dab at your nose with a tissue, removing the last few flecks of blood, though even after a night’s sleep, you find bits of dried blood upon sneezing.
© Harry Mikula Quilty 2026
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