(This is a translation from English to Spanish of the first paragraphs from a book I am working on).
"An effervescent and nervous
laughter followed up a moment of brief incredulity for Octavio Martinez upon
observing his hands, pricked in some sort of crimson viscous liquid. Of course,
he had believed for an instant to have spilled whatever that was on his hands
while attempting to mix alcohol with some other potion that could have easily
been found in any dusty old bottle from his workshop. It would not have been
the first time and, if he was lucky then, could be on the verge of intoxication
and never waking up ever again.
After a while trying to hold is sight still and, for
what Octavio supposed, was his drunken state in full effect, it was impossible
for him to find the bottle containing what was covering his hands in the near
vicinity of where he was laying, on the floor. «Must be shoe polish», Octavio
thought «Or iodine, perhaps?». Upon groping clumsily over the floor by his
sides, the man examined his hands for a brief while on the feeble light of the
sole bulb hanging from the ceiling in the room and raised them under his nose
to sniff them. Suddenly, his heart stopped dead. It was neither iodine, nor
polish, nor any other kind of liquid that could ever come to his mind. The
unmistakable stench of blood, not too far from drying up, filled up is nose all
of a sudden and, not being able to believe it, sniffed loudly over and over
again in between short and quick exhalations."