I get myself into the craziest things. About a week ago I received a request to participate in a mass casualty drill that will be held near Seattle this weekend. As someone who has the recommended 3 days of emergency supplies (including water and pet food!) in her house and who has played "Emergency Kit Bingo" with senior citizens, I'm all about helping communities prepare for possible disasters.
In this case I'll be a "victim". As such I will have make-up and probably latex "wounds" applied to my person. I've been on the other side, and it was surprising how seeing someone covered in fake blood gets the heart beating faster even though you KNOW it's make-believe.
The art of applying gory makeup and fake knives and bullet holes is known as "moulage", and has apparently been around since the Renaissance when they used wax figures to practice on.
According to the official letter I received, I get to select how "wounded" I'll be. I'd rather not be deceased because...well, for LOTS of reasons, but namely because then I have to just lay really, really still for long periods of time. Where's the fun in that? I want to have some sort of injury where I get to roll around and groan and cry out pitifully.
"It's getting so...dark...and I'm feeling so very, very cold," I'll tell the first responders in a weak, yet noble voice. And then I'll wave them off with an anemic little swish of my hand..."Don't worry about me, take care of the others (cough, cough) first. It's just a flesh wound," I'll say with a saintly smile to bolster their sagging spirits, pretending not to see the dire concern in their eyes.
Ah, mass casualty drills...good times, good times...
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