I dedicate this work to all those who have a Binyamin Rao in them, who remain skeptical of the seemingly natural system that runs this world. To those like Mira Qureshi who can't do without pushing their own boundaries for others. And most of all, to people like the half turned experiment subjects who are not failures but the undeniable consequences of said system.
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Confetti cannons blasted from left and right covering the ground in red and white sparks. Students stood in a dancing formation as they recorded a reel for Instagram, chanting: "Give Blood, Share Life!"
It was the Annual Blood Drive, the biggest event in JUST. For the city of Jhelum, it was a big help to have the most prestigious university of Pakistan hold such a big donation event which helped the hospitals by a great deal too.
On top of that, just like the other events in the college, this one was also handled completely for and by the students. This gave them nothing more than a sense of doing something meaningful in their otherwise selfish lives.
He was also one such student. Only his experience with the Community Service Value - the society organizing today's blood drive - connected him with the harsh reality of the world. And when it did, he tried his best to be of use. And so, we see him pause at the edge near a flag, assessing before moving.
He adjusted his grip on the folding table he was carrying. His eyes tracked the foot traffic, power cords and a cluster of students near the snacks vendor.
He walked through the crowd without apology, avoiding the power cords and set the table down precisely where the floor markings said it should go. Then he grabbed the stack of consent forms from a nearby table and nudged them onto this one into alignment. One corner was bent which he flattened with care.
'Phew' He sighed in satisfaction and before he could enjoy the moment, a girl with a clipboard approached him: "Bin! The boys' tent is running behind on electrolytes."
Binyamin exhaled out of his nose. Of course it is.
-
The girl lay on a cot, boots crossed at the ankle. A thin tube ran from her arm into a bag filling steadily with dark red. She didn't look at the blood. She watched the inside of tent.
She noted the volunteers helping people. She clocked the photography executive taking too long over some donors and also saw which faculty members visited but didn't donate; all the while taking photos with the donation banner.
When the nurse adjusted the clamp, Mira finally looked down: "You alright?"
"Yea." Mira said with a dry voice: "Just wondering if they'll be posting this on LinkedIn even before patients actually use this blood?"
The nurse blinked: "Excuse me?"
She smiled sharply but kindly: "Just a joke. Mostly."
The nurse chuckled uncertainly and moved on.
As she went away, Mira turned to the surroundings once again. Right across from her, a freshman girl fainted theatrically. Mira rolled her eyes and accepted the electrolyte drink.
-
In the boys' tent, Zahir hovered like a bee.
He had checked the tourniquet twice before the needle went in. He adjusted the chair angle and slid the container near the nurse so he wouldn't have to reach. He grabbed some glucose tabs in his hands that he'd brought from home just in case.
"Slow breath." He murmured to the donor: "In through the nose. You're okay. I've got you."
While the donor nodded, the nurse eyed Zahir warily. For some reason, he felt threatened by this brat.
Zahir watched the blood flow with professional focus, but his jaw stayed tight. He never fully relaxed at these things. Too many variables.
The moment the nurse pulled the needle out, Zahir readied himself with pressure, bandage and a juice box.
"Drink all of it." He said gently but firmly: "And sit for five minutes. I'm serious."
The donor smiled weakly: "Yes, doctor."
'Not yet.' Zahir lampooned inwardly while the nurse face palmed.
'If you had to call someone doctor, why couldn't it have been me?' He must have thought.
After a few moments, Binyamin appeared inside the tent without announcement as he set the carton of electrolytes down.
"You're short on these I've heard." He said.
Zahir frowned: "I thought we had more." He said before the logistics guy in the tent could respond.
Binyamin raised a brow: "And you are?"
"Zahir Malik, MBBS freshman."
Just then, the logistics guy responded, "Bin, he's not with the Community Service Value."
Bin looked at Zahir directly: "Fill out the volunteer form and I'll let you stay."
Zahir beamed at him as the nurse and logistics boy sighed: "Thank you."
With that, Binyamin got out of the tent.
-
Two hours later
Near the admin table, the girl with the clipboard stood stiffly. She wore the CSV card in her neck while faculty smiled when they passed her by. They always did.
She watched the blood bags being put into cartons and the cartons being stacked into trucks. It was pretty normal, all of it. And it was a standard procedure every year, yet the fact that it was just four trucks going to 11 different hospitals- wait 11? That doesn't sound right.
Just when she was confused, she saw Bin coming up to him: "Any updates on the last truck, Aisha?"
"Another one?"
Bin took the clipboard from her and showed Aisha the pencil notes scribbled on top of the official documents.
There was another plate number written right next to the 12th and last hospital listed:
Malik Chhipa Children's Hospital | LE 5025
-
A freight truck with the number plate: LE 5025 zoomed on Reader's Avenue at twice the speed limit. The driver wore a security uniform - normally not worn in a third world country such as Pakistan. His command on the vehicle was outstanding considering he was wearing tinted glasses in the evening. He raced and outmaneuvered even the campus police car which surprisingly enough didn't seem too troubled by it.
However, call it bad luck or a momentary loss of control, a black sedan took a turn on his side of the road without a warning signal. He tried to pull the brakes but it was all too fast.
The truck ended up hitting the car's side with a loud: CRASH! and everything seemed to stop for a moment.
The driver took a few seconds to regain composure before he saw a woman get out from the backseat of the sedan.
Staggering, she made her way to the crumpled front door of her car. Trying to pull it open with all her strength, she saw the handle break as she fell back with the rebound. With no might to get up, Mira fell unconscious.