Mounds of sands rise and diminish until part snakes, part translucent worm, their insides visible, come out slithering, panting and drooling onto the grounds, hungry.  The dancing policemen spread high above the arena’s walls increase the pace of their dance, like refined and demented Voodoo dolls.

“Come see me if you dare!” one prisoner taunts the snake-worms, but before he has time to step aside, one such creature is upon him, digesting him from its rear end, slowly decomposing its victim its terrified and haunted face seen by all.

“Fast movers,” the Captain mutters.

“Doomed, we’re doomed,” the King insists, the Monkey holding hands, ready for an escape.

At that moment, Birdseye lands a few meters from the King and the Captain and stamps his foot as loud as he can, rhythmically.  Accustomed as they are to follow his lead, the dancing policemen imitate him and stamp their feet.

“Surely he wouldn’t?” Colonel Loga wonders out loud.

So the Captain begins stamping his foot too and, as the remainder of the prisoners follow in their lead, more worm-creatures, only smaller, come out of the sandy grounds.

“We could do without the relatives,” Captain Traumatic remarks when, one large snake-worm pounces on the small versions that are emerging by his side, and in a swift and efficient move, gobbles them all up.  Across it, one angry, mean worm engages in a battle with this unanticipated bully where who is eating and what is being eaten is impossible to distinguish.  Birdseye turns to the Captain and explains:

“The fathers eat the young.  The mothers fight the fathers to death.”

“On my planet,” the King says, “this would—“

“—Some parenting skills!” the Captain remarks.

To be continued…


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