Fiction Friday: April 21

T-Rex Encounter

The buffet of humans stretched along the side of the building, one delicious morsel after the other. T wiped a tear from his eye. (More accurately, he tried to wipe a tear from his eye. Sadly, his tiny arms wouldn’t reach his face. He’d cursed his small arms many times in his life; brushing away tears was the least of his problems.)

“I love it when they queue,” he said as he bent to scarf down the first. It slid down quick and easy. Lycra, yum. The next few were equally delicious. After that, sadly, they became harder to catch. Honestly, most of the time they acted as if they had no survival instinct. Why did they only remember when he was around?

He swept out his tail, knocking a group of fleeing humans over. When he bit down, too loud of a crunch came. “What the hell?” He attempted to pick at his teeth. (He couldn’t of course, and damn his useless arms!)

A rope hanging across the street caught his attention. He leaned close, opened his mouth, and scraped his teeth back and forth along the rope. Between that and the gargling, he finally managed to spit the problematic bit out.

“A prosthetic? Damn it, I thought this place was safe. It didn’t have handicapped parking or anything!”

T heaved a sigh. Stupid humans. He was doing them a favor, really. Survival of the fittest shouldn’t be won by a species that enjoyed reality TV. (Which wasn’t to say T never indulged. Not that often, because he couldn’t reach the remote while lounging on his couch.)

Only two humans remained in the area. They didn’t move, moaning as they twitched on the ground. They must have fallen over during the mad dash to escape him. T clicked his tongue in disapproval. If some over-sized predator attacked him and a group of his fellows, he’d stay and help out the other Rexes. (T-Rexes needed to help one another out. With enough bending and the right angle, one dinosaur’s tiny arms could reach useful places on the other dinosaur.)

After rubbing himself along the ground, T picked up the remaining humans. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you now,” he told them. He didn’t think they could hear him over their screams and pleas for mercy, but that had never before stopped his narration. “I’m taking you home. I’d use a doggy bag, but my parachute ripped last week. And I can’t repair it. Stupid hands, can’t even hold a needle and thread…”

Shaking his head, he stalked off.

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