I became a phlebotomist to volunteer. And to feed.
Reuben sits for his monthly donation.
Expertly I tie, dab, poke, release.
“Leave some for the mosquitos, doc!” Reuben laughs, on cue. Sweet guy.
I set two bags of syrupy, savory blood aside. One for transfusions. One for lunch.
A drop of blood spills down his arm like caramel on a candied apple.
My stomach growls.
I don’t want to kill…
I can hear his heartbeat.
It’s too much.
“Reuben…” I say. “Unbutton your collar. Please.”“My… collar…?” he chuckles.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need a lot more blood today.”
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