Blood's Thicker

Once you get into this business, the only way you get out is in multiple coolers. I don't like what I do, but I do like my organs where they are, so I don't intend to quit any time soon. The funny part is I'm not a highly trained surgeon. I'm just your average twenty-three year old. With average twenty-three year old problems.

They don't pay you to do this job, and as far as the big wigs are concerned, I've already been paid. I can't even disagree with them. My brothers life was well worth this nightmare. I just wish I could see him again.

I remember how it all started. I remember reading the donors list, a sky scraping stack of names, and the very last name, on the very last page, was my brothers. He had already suffered so much, between dialysis, diets, and the cruelty of his school mates. He shouldn't have had to suffer more because we weren't wealthy. He had so much more to give than the man on top of the list.

He was a sixty seven year old ex politician. One who had been to court on many accounts. Accounts like laundering, black mail, endangerment to minors, animal cruelty, murder, the fucking list went on, but he was never convicted. He was the scum of the planet, a foul turd shat from the bowels of the devil himself and flushed away to earth. He'd be getting a kidney before Damon. He'd be healthy because his pockets were silk coffers. It's amazing what a wad of cash can make people forget.

I sat in the waiting room, the TV droned,the news anchor blabbered on about some celebrity wedding, cause you know, that is news. Damon was going through his weekly treatment, and that old politician was here for the same. That smug looking bastard sat next to me, tapping his expensive Italian leather loafers, constantly glancing at as his $20,000 Rolex.

He caught me staring, his brown eyes flashed with contempt. His manicured salt and pepper brows sunk into an angered stance. "Got a problem kid?" "Yeah, actually, I do." My words carried the anger my body had been harvesting. "You better watch your mouth there boy. You don't know who you're talking too."

"I know who you are, you're the sleazy piece of shit that gets off on touching little autistic kids." The waiting room became silent, I had been to wrapped up in staring the man before me down, I hadn't realized how many people had since entered. "Say one more word, and I'll sue you for slander. I'll take everything, including the shirt off your back." I was on my feet before he finished his sentence.

My arm was cocked back, my knuckles were white from the pressure of my clenched fist. "Tommy, don't!" My brothers feeble command stopped me in my tracks. Ronald, the politician, just laughed. "Pathetic." He muttered. He stood up and walked towards the waiting nurse, stopping to examine my brother. He turned and looked at me, his hand in my brothers hair, his eyes met mine "Survival of the fittest, kid."

My anger swelled again,tears welled at my eyes, but I had refused to let them out. The pressure backed into my sinuses, leaving my throat swollen and sore. I grabbed Damons hand, and half dragged him with me to the exit. As the automatic door clicked down its rickety track, I was stopped by a little old man.

His soft tufts of white hair were combed to one side, his piercing blue eyes stared up at me through thick coke bottle glasses. My body and voice still trembled with rage, but I managed to squeak out a semi calm "May, I help you?" "No, but I can help you." He said slipping me a card.

I had only glanced at the card, just long enough to memorize it's words. It had read Parts for sale/trade. Underneath the finely printed black words was a number. 555-4311. No sooner had I lipped the words to myself and looked up, he was gone.

Damon was sound asleep that night. Dialysis had taken its toll. After tucking him in, I sat in our tiny living room, sipping Popov, staring at the card I had been handed. Parts for sale/trade. "What the fuck does that mean!?!" I screamed the words, whipping the half full plastic pint at the paper thin wall our landlord called sturdy.

I was a mess, head between my knees, tears cascading from my eyes. I slunk down to the floor from the faded brown couch. The cushion sliding with my weight. I crawled across our ragged carpet, and snuggled with the pint of vodka. Sipping and crying until I passed out.

Anyways, my brother is doing fine now. I can't see him, but the big guy upstairs sends me his report cards and pictures. Damon is top of his class, can you believe it? I'm so proud of him! He's even trying out for the soccer team, and from what I hear, he has a pretty decent kick.

Now, you're probably wondering the relevance of all this. Which is understandable. You're my next mark, and I thought you should at least know my story before I harvest your insides. It's nothing personal, but if I don't harvest yours, they'll harvest Damons while I watch, and then mine. They own me. The big guy upstairs,is Satan, and the trade, was for my soul.