Flash fiction - Central Pallor

This is one of my first attempts at creative writing. At the time, I was studying and sketching red blood cells. I had some great critiques for this short piece, but I seem to have lost them. This work is thus posted in its unedited glory.

Bones do more than give humans shape. They create the substance keeping their soft, fragile bodies alive. Among the components of their legendary blood is the humble red cell, cannibalizing itself almost from its conception so it can deliver oxygen and pick up waste. Bone marrow packages the proteins, iron, and vitamins needed to push them out into the blood vessels, sparing energy only to give them extra skin. Their nucleus (the closest thing a cell has to a mind), the marrow takes from them before sending them out into the world.

Soon, the red cells rid themselves of as most luggage as possible to survive. All fancy proteins most go, until there isn’t enough of the red cells left to fill up their skin. It’s for the best. They’ll need to squeeze themselves into sleeker and sleeker cords if they want to sneak into the thinnest slits in the human body.

The first time they reach the lungs, instinct forces them to gorge themselves with oxygen as quickly as possible. They cannot learn to work without the drive of a starving man at a steakhouse, so when humans run and their hearts pump faster, and pressure pushes the red cells through the lungs quicker, they still come out the other side replete with their prize.

To the rest of the body they go, and when they reach spots burning with acid, something they do not understand jerks their oxygen away from them. They pick up fire, praying the pressure that delivered them to their thieves will take them back to the lungs. There, they bathe in oxygen and lose the burn.

The cycle goes on. Pressure forces the red cells through the body’s close circuit of vessels, mindless of the branching roads. The red cells are slammed against segmenting arteries, and pieces of their skin are sheared off.

And sheared off and sheared off, until they can no longer squeeze through thin slits.

Then comes the spleen. The red cell hunter.

In its pulp, the vessels get thinner and narrower, ending on a tight bend that only the younger, sleeker red cells can squeeze through. The older ones, worn down by impact after impact against blood vessel walls, get stuck.

Garbage men, also made by the clever bone marrow, finish them off.

Scavengers pick up their proteins and iron, the hands that grabbed their beloved oxygen, and take them back to the bone. There, the marrow uses the red cells’ remains to create a new red cell.

The cycle starts again.