Flash Fiction: Just a Pint
Aug. 19th, 2020 09:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_rose posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
lmdee"Open the door!" The door shook with repeated thumps. Mrs George sat at the top of the stairs, shaking, with the children hiding under their beds. Mr George opened the door with reluctance. Immediately a police officer grabbed him and dragged him from his home.
His wife screamed but one of the men stepped inside and eyed her sternly, his lab coat crisp, glasses glinting over his surgical mask.
"Now, now, enough of that," Lab Coat said. "It's only a pint of blood."
"He already gave," Mrs George wept.
"Your husband's blood type is rare and in high demand. He will give another pint," Lab Coat said. "Isn't it worth this small inconvenience if it saves just one life?"
Mrs George shook her head. They'd threatened to break down the door. She knew they'd taken someone's children away in the next town over because their parent refused to "donate". Worse, her youngest child had the same blood type as her husband; one day they'd be in danger of this forced medical intervention.
The mandatory donations under the tagline "just one pint to save a life" hasn't seemed like such an imposition. A yearly inconvenience. What could be the harm? Besides you could opt out if you didn't want to donate or be fined. You had to put a sign outside your dwelling and carry a yellow card at all times that said "NON-DONOR" with a fetching skull and crossbones on it, but if you didn't want to be socially ostracised then you just had to do as the government asked...told...ordered.
Claire across the street had a NO DONOR sign on her front door. Someone regularly scrawled "murdrer" across it, a red spray paint misspelling meant to shame Claire. Yet Claire had always been an outspoken supporter of bodily autonomy, an alternative therapist who wanted everyone to have the choice to have or refuse any medical treatment, and if she felt any shame or guilt by refusing to co-operate she never showed it.
When Mr George was finally released from the waiting ambulance with its blacked out windows he went to bed, slamming the door behind him, too humiliated to even look his wife in the eye.
Mrs George went downstairs, poured herself a large drink, drained it, and then put on her coat. She went across the street and knocked on Claire's door. The one person who might understand.
"Just a moment." Claire always looked through the peephole before she took off the chain and opened the door. She had to be careful. When the door opened, she said, "Hey. Are you all right? I saw the medical unit."
Mrs George shook her head. "They made my husband donate again. That's the fourth time this year. He's been low on iron but they won't take that into account because his blood type is rare and they need it."
"To save just one life," Claire said hollowly. "Even at the expense of his own."
Mrs George nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were mad. Dangerous. That you didn't care about lives by refusing to donate. But things have got...out of control."
Claire nodded. "I actually gave blood a few times before this began, you know? I only objected to it being forced."
"I didn't know that."
"This started with the mandatory vaccines," Claire said. "Once you make people put things in their bodies it's easy to start taking things out. You know this won't stop here. They've already pushed mandatory removal of organs after death into law. Next for us is mandatory bone marrow donation. Then mandatory organ donation from living donors - a bit of liver, hey the liver regrows after all; you can spare a kidney, right, to save a life?"
"They'd never!"
Claire raised an eyebrow. "They'd never force a vaccine either, or drag someone from their home and take blood without full consent. A government would never enforce draconian restrictions on citizens, until they do."
Mrs George shook her head. "What can we do?"
"Resist," Claire said, nodding to the NO DONOR sign. "Campaign. Write to politicians. We're planning a protest, if you'll join us. For now, if you like, I can call a friend who can get your family put on the NO DONOR list quickly and will come and intervene if they still try and force further donations."
"Thank you." Mrs George went home. She poured another drink. She opened up the laptop and began writing an email. If she did nothing, her children would be next, she knew that now. And if Claire was even partially right, worse was to come.
She feared emails wouldn't be enough, not in the face of mass compliance and almost total support of the measures from all politicians. But she had to try.
His wife screamed but one of the men stepped inside and eyed her sternly, his lab coat crisp, glasses glinting over his surgical mask.
"Now, now, enough of that," Lab Coat said. "It's only a pint of blood."
"He already gave," Mrs George wept.
"Your husband's blood type is rare and in high demand. He will give another pint," Lab Coat said. "Isn't it worth this small inconvenience if it saves just one life?"
Mrs George shook her head. They'd threatened to break down the door. She knew they'd taken someone's children away in the next town over because their parent refused to "donate". Worse, her youngest child had the same blood type as her husband; one day they'd be in danger of this forced medical intervention.
The mandatory donations under the tagline "just one pint to save a life" hasn't seemed like such an imposition. A yearly inconvenience. What could be the harm? Besides you could opt out if you didn't want to donate or be fined. You had to put a sign outside your dwelling and carry a yellow card at all times that said "NON-DONOR" with a fetching skull and crossbones on it, but if you didn't want to be socially ostracised then you just had to do as the government asked...told...ordered.
Claire across the street had a NO DONOR sign on her front door. Someone regularly scrawled "murdrer" across it, a red spray paint misspelling meant to shame Claire. Yet Claire had always been an outspoken supporter of bodily autonomy, an alternative therapist who wanted everyone to have the choice to have or refuse any medical treatment, and if she felt any shame or guilt by refusing to co-operate she never showed it.
When Mr George was finally released from the waiting ambulance with its blacked out windows he went to bed, slamming the door behind him, too humiliated to even look his wife in the eye.
Mrs George went downstairs, poured herself a large drink, drained it, and then put on her coat. She went across the street and knocked on Claire's door. The one person who might understand.
"Just a moment." Claire always looked through the peephole before she took off the chain and opened the door. She had to be careful. When the door opened, she said, "Hey. Are you all right? I saw the medical unit."
Mrs George shook her head. "They made my husband donate again. That's the fourth time this year. He's been low on iron but they won't take that into account because his blood type is rare and they need it."
"To save just one life," Claire said hollowly. "Even at the expense of his own."
Mrs George nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were mad. Dangerous. That you didn't care about lives by refusing to donate. But things have got...out of control."
Claire nodded. "I actually gave blood a few times before this began, you know? I only objected to it being forced."
"I didn't know that."
"This started with the mandatory vaccines," Claire said. "Once you make people put things in their bodies it's easy to start taking things out. You know this won't stop here. They've already pushed mandatory removal of organs after death into law. Next for us is mandatory bone marrow donation. Then mandatory organ donation from living donors - a bit of liver, hey the liver regrows after all; you can spare a kidney, right, to save a life?"
"They'd never!"
Claire raised an eyebrow. "They'd never force a vaccine either, or drag someone from their home and take blood without full consent. A government would never enforce draconian restrictions on citizens, until they do."
Mrs George shook her head. "What can we do?"
"Resist," Claire said, nodding to the NO DONOR sign. "Campaign. Write to politicians. We're planning a protest, if you'll join us. For now, if you like, I can call a friend who can get your family put on the NO DONOR list quickly and will come and intervene if they still try and force further donations."
"Thank you." Mrs George went home. She poured another drink. She opened up the laptop and began writing an email. If she did nothing, her children would be next, she knew that now. And if Claire was even partially right, worse was to come.
She feared emails wouldn't be enough, not in the face of mass compliance and almost total support of the measures from all politicians. But she had to try.