cerealkiller0

There is so much of it that it almost looks black. Well, everywhere except around the edges. There, the sharp crimson contrasts vividly with the surrounding white of the hospital.

Ian takes it all in with a kind of morbid fascination.

O negative. The universal donor. His blood can be given to anyone and everyone. And there are certainly enough people in need tonight. A six car pile-up a half mile down route 60. Ian got out without a scratch. He'd also been one of the drivers.

Three people had already been confirmed dead. Four more are in surgery, including Ian's only passenger, the intended recipient of the O negative currently pouring from his vein.

Ian watches as the bag steadily fills. It seems like so much, and yet it can only be a fraction of what the other had already lost. He takes a deep breath, feeling woozy and nauseated. The nurse in front of him pushes juice and granola bars at him, insisting he eat.

He does so mechanically, knowing that the sick feeling will not be conquered so easily, as it had less to do with the blood loss and everything to do with the guilt he feels.

The accident was his fault. Even if he rips open every vein in his body, it won't make up for the damage he has done.