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The Bracelet |
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By Natalie JE Potts © 2008
Trevor looked down at his hand. It spasmed again. He watched it twitch like a spider in its final death throes, and a conversation from a week before popped into his head. "Green with pink squiggles?" the old man had said, one hairy eyebrow lifting. "And what’s the bracelet supposed to be for?" "Supporting the Killimi people," Trevor had said, handing the signature board over. The older looked away from the rubber bracelet just long enough to leave his moniker and pass back the form that was Trevor’s insurance as a courier. "And who are they?" "Dunno." Another raised eyebrow, coupled with a nose-flare. "It looks a little tight," the old man observed. "They’re meant to," Trevor had said a little too quickly, "everyone wears them like that." He had handed over the parcel and slipped the signature board back into his pack. Now, looking from the twitching hand on the bed to the stump of his arm, he realised that the old man had indeed been right.
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