Let’s say you get a cut and, just to be nice, I grab you a bandaid and some first aid spray. I wait for you to offer up your injury, and nothing happens.
“Let’s get this bandaid on there.”
“What’s the point? It’s just going to keep bleeding under there, anyway.”
“The point is to stop the bleeding eventually.”
“It’s all a cover-up, though. It’s still going to bleed – things aren’t all not- bleedy under there!”
“Yes, well, if you want the damn thing to heal without getting an infection and complicating things, you’ll wear it.”
“You’re not really healing anything. I mean, if I get another cut, I’ll bleed, so it’s not really helping, in the long run.”
“I mean, I was born covered in blood – why bother, you know?”
“Alright, it’s your choice. I just tried to help…”
“See, there you go, blaming the bleeder, like I could help the fact that I got a cut. You’re so unsympathetic to the victims of bloodloss. You’ve probably lost blood at some point in your life, or know someone who has…”
“Yeah, and I fixed it.”
“After you ‘fixed it’, did you bleed again?”
“From a completely different wound, ’cause that one healed, or else I knicked it after it scabbed up, but it wasn’t healed all the way, yet.”
“This one’s never gonna heal.” Lifts up shirt.
“Holy Fuck! That scab’s huge!”
“How’s this for a bandaid?”
“You need to go to the fucking hospital.”
“I need to go to work in the morning.”
When it’s all said and done, it’s your own choice.