My blood kills cancer.
Yep, you read that right. The big bad C word that scares just about everyone these days. My blood kills it. Dead. Dead Kennedys’ invitation to the White House dead. Disappointed George Romero dead. Doesn’t matter what type of cancer. It quickly finds itself outmaneuvered, surrounded, and mercilessly crushed by an iron-red phalanx. Just a few drops of my blood—drops mind you, and miracles start happening.
Time to get my parents back, but to do that I need to raise a lot of money. Fast. Only time will tell if this crazy plan will work.
