Another in a series of experiments in tone and scenario-establishing. Based on a premise thought up by my little bro.
I’ve been working here for two years, and in that time, I’ve stolen a couple hundred bags of blood. Until yesterday, no one’s come close to catching me.
I wasn’t even supposed to be in the cooler, much less examining a bag of O+. Shelley jolted me from my salivating when she shouted, “What are you doing in here?” She stood with a hand on her hip and her eyebrows raised.
I had an urge to say, “It’s not my fault,” like I used to do whenever Mom caught me cutting the back of my hand. Instead, I said something even more idiotic: “It’s my birthday!”
Shelley didn’t move. “Congratulations. And what does that have to do with your holding a bag of blood?”
I could have blamed a lazy nurse, but I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, so I opted for the truth. “I’m a vampire, and I wanted to treat myself to a bag of AB positive.” Most of the stuff in our blood bank was O positive or A positive, and I was getting kind of sick of them. It being my birthday and all, I decided to treat myself to something finer.
“Funny.” Shelley held out her hand, and I gave up my treasure. “Which one of our hard-working staff members put you up to this?”
I hate pawning off my lies on others, but sometimes it’s necessary. You learn to blame the people who are a little scatter-brained, the ones who don’t always know for sure what they did an hour ago. In a sense, that’s what my life is all about — figuring out who to prey upon while causing the least harm.
And now that I’d just lost my blood for the night, someone else was going to have to pay the price.