Jimbo’s leg

Jimbo eyed the other men’s bare legs uneasily. The others all had thick black arrows pointing to the left knee; the arrow on his pointed straight at his right knee cap. Nobody caught his gaze but when he turned his eyes away he felt hot twitches of attention flicking over him. Over his knee.

One by one the others were told to get on their beds and were wheeled away. The women’s bright efficient voices were the only sound apart from the shrill birdsong floating in with the cold-aired sunshine. They all went quietly. Jimbo watched the wheels turn; no squeaks.

Three had gone. None had come back. The birdsong had stopped and the sun was gone. It was cold. Jimbo rubbed the arrow on his leg. Nothing. No smudging. He licked his finger and rubbed again. Still nothing.

When the women came for him, he too stayed silent. Until he saw the other men’s legs again.

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