Its that time of year. Yes, that time where emails are flying mysteriously into my inbox to plead a case most sincerely. Donate Blood, they solicit, It warms the Heart! And Just a friendly reminder, they repeatedly continue, Red Cross is in great need of Type “O” donors! in bold faced red and a happy, smiling emoticon.

 

Its greatly disturbing, I’ve found, when messages such as these are addressed to me. Give blood, give blood now they seem to say, as if the world depended on my slightly anemic O cells to combat a ravenous population of vampires. Makes a girl think, then walk about with shifty eyes and cautious movements. Do I even know a vampire? Hmmm. Interesting visions dance about; conspiracy theories of paranormal origin. 

 

In the hallways there are signs and arrows and red painted letters, the walk ways are chalked with messages impervious to the rain, and there were lines of people milling about. Moving forward, step; step; step; faint. Sugar thrown in an alarming rate to pasty pale figures shuffling from cot to chair. And the beady eyes of the tall man in white tracking suspicious movement of those who might have what he needs.

 

His name was William, and he supervised the temporary factory thrusting for blood.

 

Eah, whoops, I’m late for class! A bold face lie; about-turn. Bye bye William; better get working on perfecting synthesized blood.

 

Such is the life of a Type “O” Dodger.