Abattoir

The guards looked like astronauts in their white protective body suits and face-masks. They held their guns pointed at the dark still mass in the boat.

An edgy guard shouted, ‘Don’t move. I will shoot.’ He waved his gun, ‘Don’t you understand? Bam! Bam! I will shoot.’

‘What do they want?’ another asked. ‘Water…?’

‘This one wants Band-Aid.’

‘Why would they need plaster?’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘How are they going to sort this lot?’

‘Who knows? I can’t even make out male and female.’

‘Maybe, they will sort by age.’

‘They will probably keep only the healthy ones.’

‘What’s the delay?’

‘Some machine problem in the abattoir.’

‘Damn those white staring eyes!’