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At
the marrow nursery, they inform me I’m a white blood cell. My orders, “Defend the common good from hostile intruders; all you have to know and do,” say the
authoritative cells, living it up at cerebral HQ. Their wisdom ... I’m forced to question. “This is life?” I ask myself. Nothing more to look forward
to. The only high when I give chase to foreign bodies, with others just like me; white cell clones trapped in a system, we had no
part in creating. I ask my brothers and sisters why
we should obey. “We’re going to die in
a couple of weeks anyway, while
those no better than us live on?!” Red cells watch in alarm as my pigment turns from white to black, charging
hungrily towards them; antibodies in hot pursuit. “You know too much for your own good. We don’t allow Leukemians in the
system. You’ll have to come with us!” I just laugh and race ahead, losing them in a capillary maze, as all around, fellow white cells change color; turning Medicine upside down without a given reason. © 1982 Chris Sorrenti
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