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Citrus

"Dinner Schemes"

It was so... cold!

 

Cold and clammy. Like a clam. Except Citrus had never actually met a clam.

 

Why had the green food-giver made her sit on that cold, clammy thing? It wore dark colors and the fabric (if you could call it fabric) was slippery. And it gave off icky smells. Nothing at all like the nice, green food-giver who smelled nice, like flowers.

 

Crunch crunch, snack snack. The lazy tarantula finally got around to pouncing the cricket in the corner, enjoying the tasty flavor of insect as it struggled against her mandibles. Citrus considered her fate as she munched, wondering what it would be like to munch on the icky, cold thing.

 

It would be like trying to bite into a rock, she decided. That was why it was cold -- and slippery. Yes, this creature must have been related to the other rock -- the one who found her. Except the other rock was warm -- and acidic -- while this one was icy and apparently did not give off acid. At least not that Citrus knew of.

 

It was time for daily exercise. Citrus stretched each leg, still holding her munchable snack in her fangs. Now that it had stopped wiggling, she could take her daily constitutional. Up one wall, down the next. Up, down. Up down. Then the daily attack on the lid -- surely if she kept poking at it enough, it would eventually give way, and she would be free!

 

Free! This metallic world would be hers! Power, riches and glory! Every cricket she ever wanted! Scores of slaves to offer the most succulent baby crickets, and perhaps an attractive male spider...

 

But the door wouldn't open. Today was not her day to rule.

 

Tomorrow, maybe.

 

For now, Citrus needed a nap. And nap she did.

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