This year would be different.
He’d eaten a huge breakfast, an even bigger lunch, and guzzled half a dozen flimsy bottles of water.
He was gonna get rich claiming money from the fraternity brothers who’d bet against him, boisterous guys who were now one pint lighter, chowing down on cookies and juice while they taunted him from the canteen.
As the vivacious young nurse swabbed the crook of his burly arm with iodine, the sounds of the Red Cross volunteers speaking to other donors spiraled into silence as if sucked down a huge drain, until all he could hear was his own pulse thundering through his veins.
Though his vision was quickly dimming, he saw the overhead fluorescent light glint off the sterile needle being brandished by delicate latex-clad fingers, and true to form, the biggest, baddest linebacker on campus hit the floor for the fourth straight year.
A very loose interpretation of Lillie McFerrin‘s Five Sentence Fiction prompt thunder, inspired by my own blood donation yesterday. There was no actual drama at the blood drive, and no college football players were harmed in the creation of this story.
September 4, 2013 at 5:45 AM
This was a very good illustration how the strong can be weak….and I especially love your disclaimer at the end.
September 4, 2013 at 6:52 AM
The bigger they are the harder they fall!
I guess mad cow disease if completely gone. Because we lived in England when we did and for more than 6 months we are prohibited from donating blood for the rest of our lives!
September 8, 2013 at 9:12 PM
If I’d lived there 5 years or more this time, I would be banned from donation, but 2 years is okay. Because of J’s previous tour there, he is prohibited for life (which upsets him to no end…I give him my T-shirts as a consolation prize).