Lifeblood

By Alexandra Brandt

"You learn to live moment by moment, in a world like mine. Time as an entity begins to lose meaning, and even marking the hours by the old pink plastic wall clock—a relic I brought with me from my old life—seems merely born of nostalgia...

My whole world runs by the machine."

Anolia Green's blood saves lives, so she voluntarily becomes a research lab's "miracle cure." But after years of this life, she begins to lose herself; a fact she finally realizes when Elena, a new physical therapist, starts asking questions. Suddenly Anolia wonders where to draw the lines: between selflessness and being exploited, and between selfish love and self-love.

"Just like love itself is layered and complex and underlies the motivation of characters in this story, the narrative itself, told from Anolia's point of view, is similarly woven." —Mark Leslie, Editor, Feel the Love

A short story for people who love low-stakes conflict, complex inner lives, and the X-Men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tangled Sky Press
• Release date: May 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224223213

Book preview

Lifeblood

LIFEBLOOD

A SHORT STORY

ALEXANDRA BRANDT

Tangled Sky Press

CONTENTS

Lifeblood

Also by Alexandra Brandt

About the Author

LIFEBLOOD

You learn to live moment by moment, in a world like mine. Time as an entity begins to lose meaning, and even marking the hours by the old pink plastic wall clock—a relic I brought with me from my old life—seems merely born of nostalgia. I forget to care what the numbers mean. The TV stands silent, most days.

When I first made my choices, at the beginning, painting these walls butter-yellow and filling them with bookshelves from my home seemed like a good idea. But the books would gather dust, now, if they weren’t required to be sterile by hospital standards. 

Inexplicable, really; it’s not as if a non-sterile environment would endanger me. No, when death takes me, it will not be by disease.

I fear weariness, more than anything else. That, and losing myself.

My whole world runs by the machine.

Every day…is it every day?…they hook me in, and I wonder who will be the new person in the other half of the apparatus, the next dying soul they’ve wheeled in, silently, sedated—although not for long, once my blood hits theirs—all unknowing that the miracle cure upon which they’ve hung all their hopes is hooked in to a pod they’ll never see: a living, breathing woman. Well, half-living, at least.

After silent