writing

Give Me Your Blood

The vampires prepare their instruments of torture. Shiny needles and plastic tubes, elastic bands and alcohol swabs.

Their victims willingly line up, one by one, waiting their turn. The large leather seats await for their next victim.

I slide into the seat, and they lower the gate, sealing me in. I extend my arm, my right arm, which confuses the vampire for but a moment.

They swab my arm. I swear I see their eye teeth pop out for a split second. The teeth snap back as they smile at me.

The swab is cool against my skin. They flick the inside of my elbow. The blood pumps harder as the vein rises to the surface. It’s a healthy one. The vampire drools.

I look away as they pierce my skin and begin to suck out the red swirling juice. I hear them breathe heavily, almost panting, longing for just a drop.

They take more and more blood. I feel drained. Finally they stop and withdraw their torture device from my arm. They wrap my elbow lovingly, thanking me for feeding their desires.

Finally they release the gate which had entrapped me. However, they deliver one final blow. They hand me the dreaded cup. I whimper; it is the only thing worse than donating to the vampires.


Aren’t labs so much fun? Thank a phlebotomist today!

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