Fainting on Purpose? No, I'm Just Dying
To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, my father, Myron Bradshaw, forces me to participate in the group blood donation. The only problem is I'm severely anemic.
When the nurse, Lorna Ritter, draws 100 milliliters, my vision suddenly goes dark.
I've just put my hand on the needle tube, about to call for a stop, when Ms. Ritter holds my wrist down.
"You're calling it quits after only 100 milliliters? All the other students are donating 400 milliliters."
She glances at my bloodless face, her eyes full of disgust.
"Donating blood is such an honorable thing to do. Selfish fakers like you who pretend to be sick really deserve to be penalized with a double draw."
Beside me, Dad looks at me coldly and says with disappointment, "Ronnie Bradshaw, is this how I raised you? Everyone else has donated, so don't think you can be an exception. You'll draw 400 milliliters of blood today even if it kills you."
I gasp for air, my heart racing so fast it feels like it's about to burst.
By the third tube, my vision blurs completely, and I collapse heavily to the ground.
My soul slowly rises into the air as I gaze at Dad guiltily.
I'm sorry, Dad, I'm really not lying.
This time, I truly can't hold on any longer.