The following article is based on true events, fictionalized and exaggerated with a poetic licence.

The flier hit her across her face, blocking her vision. She plucked it off her face, holding it at a distance to read it, the cold blistery breeze fluttering the paper, making it impossible to read. “He needs your blood”, it read, in bold face. It was December 1941, and America had just, unwillingly, become an Allied force, reeling under the Pearl Harbour attacks. The call for blood donation was rampant, newspaper and radio were calling for blood donation, and the American public, outraged by the attacks, responded with gusto. One could feel the patriotism in the air, and this time around the call for blood was for the country – its soldiers. The public wanted to help in whichever way possible. Reading the poster, and its soul-stirring message, invoked within her a sense of duty. She had to do something for the boys at the border – and by God, if they wanted blood, they were going to get it. The next day, she took permission to visit the blood donation centre during her lunch hour. “Where can I donate blood, sir?”, she asked the helpful man at the centre. He took one look at her, and said, “Ma’am, I am sorry, but you are not permitted to donate blood.”, embarrassment evident on his face. She was outraged,...