Monday, 10 February 2014

250 Words: Tales from the City: Blood donor

Don’t ask me how I knew.  I’ve no idea- guess the knowledge was just there.  Maybe because I’d never been ill.  Maybe I was born with a God complex.  Maybe it was just a childish notion because I could do nothing else. 

It was my cousin I first saved.  She was ill, terminally, with leukaemia and, somehow I knew my blood could save her (even though my marrow had failed).  And so I learned what to do on the ‘net, stole a syringe and donated my blood.

Since then I’ve become more obsessed with this power, first donating like a normal to help randoms before slowly escalating to my final state (via a doomed period as a nurse)- a pro beggar and a prowler, finding my way into hospitals at night and spending my time healing all sicknesses present. 

I lived on the streets to keep from the law, sleeping and earning in the day, my face becoming that of a down and out, a nothing.  Soon no one knew me and I couldn’t be found.

Not that the authorities cared.  They knew what I was doing all along but never sought me out.  Unlike some of the others, I never appeared in the papers.

And so, known as the Angel of Life, I continued to stalk the hospitals of the country, occasionally returning to cities to cleanse anew.  But always in the back of my mind frustrated I could not go further.  That is until the government intercepted me.

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