Crimson Collection

It itches, this needle. I want to scratch and scrape to try to dig it out but I’m strapped so tightly around my waist, my legs, my arms that the only thing I can move is my neck.

Insanity is approaching, I can feel it boring into my brain. There is no release. The only thing I can do is cry out. I scream loudly. Not to garner anyone’s attention, I know there is no help for me. I cry out simply because there is nothing else to do but stare at these sterile white walls.

I scream louder again and again to hear the echo of my anguish resonate off of those walls. Before long my fussing causes the nurses, dressed in crisp crimson frocks to rush to my side. I think they are here to help me.

But I am wrong.

“She won’t shut the fuck up,” one nurse yells angrily as he grabs my jaw and forces my teeth apart. “We can shut her up,” the woman to his left answers. She picks up a cold, stainless steel scalpel. As her partner continues to pry my mouth open she slides the scalpel inside towards the back of my throat. It hits my gag reflex and I choke as saliva gathers around my tonsils. I feel her turn the scalpel so the sharp blade presses against my tongue.

Slice.

The blood flows and rolls into the back of my throat. I sputter and choke and try to force it up but I fail. A burning sensation irritates my throat and I can taste the metallic liquid in my mouth.

Slice.

I try to cry out but all I can do is gargle the blood up and let it roll out of the corners of my mouth. I give one last desperate cough and blood spatters across the faces of my captors. They don’t stop to wipe it away.

With a final slice, the woman turns away, and I can see her holding a wormlike object in her hand. It takes me one horrified minute to realize it’s my tongue in her hand. Nausea rises in my stomach and the last thing I feel in my throat is the texture of vomit mixing with the remaining blood in my mouth.

I’m filled with panic, disgust and revulsion. I grow lightheaded and dizzy. I’m going to pass out, I can feel it. It won’t be long until I fade into blackness, but the sweet release of unconscious thought is comforting. As I allow the sensation to overtake me, I turn my head to the side and focus again on the drip...drip....drip...of my blood filling a bag to save a stranger while I slowly die.

I never should have gotten on that cursed ship. I can’t remember the last time I saw sunshine, nor the last time I felt the comfort of a breeze on sweating skin lying prone in white sand watching waves roll idly into each other.

I remember the scarlet Vermillion Queen flowers that paved the stone walkway that guided me from my hut to the water’s edge for that morning’s breakfast and daily cleansing. The only thing I see now that comes close to that brilliant red is the liquid filling this plastic bag, flowing from my veins unwillingly, attached to a pole by this unrelenting needle.

My life wasn’t always so despairing. I grew up in a small, close knit village. No one had abundant wealth, but we had what we needed. The island provided us with food, shelter and warmth. We provided each other with love, comfort and entertainment.

Greed will create a tarnished image of your surroundings, causing your perception of your environment to be smudged by the black thought of, “this isn’t good enough.” We may have had everything we needed right before our eyes, but a long standing tradition promised more.

Annually, a ship would appear on the horizon and dock at our island to take 10 lucky people to Paradise. Paradise was the mainland where it was said a larger population resided. A land where no one works for their food. There are no chores, no labor, no dull toils.

How did we decide who the 10 people were who were able to get off the island? A lottery was the fairest way. Not everyone was eligible. There were rules. Age restrictions applied. On our 17th birthdays we enrolled for the lottery. All that was required was one small prick of your finger and a drop of blood placed on a slide with your name for identification along with your height and weight.

There was only one downside to Paradise. It required a loss of contact with the village. There was no correspondence possible between the mainland and our island. We only had a vague idea of what Paradise held for us, but we knew that it must have been preferable to our village since no one that left before had ever chosen to return on that ship.

I was ecstatic last year when my number was pulled and I was going to be one of the lucky ten. My daily life of fishing, making fires and boiling ocean water to use for drinking and washing had begun to bore me. I was longing for a new adventure, new knowledge and greater experiences.

However, I also had a deeper reason for my craving to go on the ship.

My mother had been one of the ten chosen the year before.

I missed her greatly. She had been the guiding force of my life. A teacher, a nurturer, a confidante and my leader, her loss was devastating to me. Surprisingly she did not want to leave, but she didn’t have a choice. After registration, there is no choice for the entirety of your remaining eligibility. When the lottery chooses you, you go.

With great excitement, I held my number and presented it to the ship’s crew as I boarded with my 9 companions. We stood on the deck and waved goodbye to the life we had known and we excitedly babbled about the long lost family and friends we were going to see.

When we arrived at Paradise we were met at the bottom of our ship’s ramp by ten nurses, and each of them took one of us by the arm. They greeted us with smiles and kindness and escorted us to our individual bedrooms. I asked my nurse when I would be able to see the ones who had traveled here before me. She presented gleaming white teeth behind scarlet lips and pleasantly reassured me, “Soon.”

My bedroom was quaint. It included a twin size bed, one small closet and one bookshelf already supplied with magazines and novels. I unpacked my suitcase and sat on my bed for a minute while I thought of all the things I was going to tell my mother.

With a nervous flutter in my stomach and a bouncing step I strolled to the door to see who I could find to ask about where I could find my mother. I grabbed the doorknob and turned.

It was locked.

I rattled the knob. No release. I pounded on the door. There must have been some mistake. I yelled for help and received no answer. I attempted to kick the door open but the hinges held strong. I paced the floor and yelled louder. Nothing. The panic rose through my chest, causing my heart to tighten and the blood to pound through my ears. My breath grew more rapid and more shallow. A rising white fog spilled into the room from vents in the floor. It clouded my vision and I blinked my eyes rapidly trying to clear them moments before I collapsed to the floor.

When I woke I was no longer in my new bedroom. I was strapped to this bed, unable to move, with this revolting needle lodged into me. Before long, a tall man with short dark hair and unsettling gray eyes strode to my bedside. He wore a stethoscope and held a clipboard with a medical chart.

“Do you know why you are here?”

I nodded as I answered, “Yes, I won the lottery.”

He chuckled.

“You serve a greater purpose.”

His voice caused ice to settle in my chest. Something was drastically wrong. I ached for my mother as he settled into a chair beside me to tell me the real reason I had been chosen and revealed the lies we had been told.

Paradise was home to a different population, but they did not live the life of ease that we had been promised. 200 years prior a virus had plagued their nation. The virus caused their flesh to open up, creating burning, pus filled wounds that oozed incessantly. After a week of infection the ooze turned to blood that couldn’t be clotted. With no available treatment, all those infected bled out until their last ragged breath was taken. Highly contagious, the virus rippled through the population, causing fear to abound. The only hope was a vaccine.

A vaccine was pushed in an attempt to answer the civilians’ cry for help. Millions flocked to receive it. Only a small subset of the population at that time refused.

The immediate side effects were painful. People reported a searing headache that began 3 days post vaccination and lasted for a week. During that week they complained of vision loss, nausea when moving, and an inability to remember events occurring around them. When the headache passed the vomiting began. Their stomachs churned and heaved and tried to dispel every last drop of what it was interpreting as poison until the people grew weak from dehydration and lay immobile on their bathroom floors. However, after the initial side effects passed, all seemed well.

It wasn’t until a decade had passed that the death rates began their increase.

All those who had received the vaccine experienced severe blood infections. The blood infections were prolific, incessant and passed through to offspring from their mothers. The only cure available was donated blood infusions from the unvaccinated. While there were donations made, it wasn’t enough. In a desperate attempt at survival, the vaccinated began to attack those who were unvaccinated. They chopped arms, gouged eyeballs and sliced open arteries in an attempt to collect and later infuse good blood into their bodies.

Escape was the only feasible option for the healthy. They fled the mainland and inhabited our island. With each passing generation the scenario they fled from grew further distant in everyone’s mind until it was long forgotten.

Forgotten history often provides government opportunity. Correspondence between the two lands was forbidden. On one side, a false perception of Paradise was created and a lottery for a better life offered. On the other, healing blood was collected and sold to the highest bidder. One liter of good blood could be bought for upwards of one million dollars.

That is why I am here. I am what is known as a “Bleeder.” That is their name for us. I will remain strapped to this bed with my blood continuously collected until my body can give no more. In some ways promises were kept. I do not have to work anymore. I have no chores and no responsibilities. I have nothing expected of me but to lie here and watch my blood as it continues to drip...drip...drip.