You’re on a road with three of your best friends, traveling cross-country from New York to L.A. You’re passing the time by singing, laughing, and playing games. Suddenly, a vehicle from behind collides with yours. You are ejected from the car. When you come to, you don’t immediately remember what day or time it is. The last thing you can recall is enjoying a game of “have you ever,” but now, you’re on a gravel road, face down. You have no clue where your friends have disappeared to. You want to scream their names to determine if they’re nearby, yet when you attempt to, you can barely whisper. Your head is throbbing in pain. Blood is gushing down the sides of your face. You’re completely unable to move. You panic. Barely conscious, you can hear sirens blaring from fire trucks and medical vehicles. EMTs run over to you and others in the nearby area. They ask you questions to verify if you’re conscious, while tearing your clothing off to check on your vitals. They begin aiding you, but abruptly, they stop. You can overhear other EMTs continuing to assist your friends in the distance. Yet slowly, the EMTs helping you slowly back away from your frail body.
What is that?
I thought it was a man but, what are those scars on its chest? And it has a vagina!
What do we do?
Leave it alone.
But this person is in serious condition! We must do something!
The world won’t care if a freak dies.
It’s apparent to you and the medical responders that you are in critical condition, but their bigotry overrides their duty to treat you and your wounds.