Davie had always thought that a scorpion had 6 legs, because that’s what insects have isn’t it? But watching the yellow backed hard shelled beastie trapped under the upturned glass he saw he was mistaken. 8, a bloody creepy spider with reinforcements.
He glanced up to look across at his opponent, a stranger from 8th who was anxiously stroking his blonde moustache, a single matchbox on the table in front of him. “shall we do this thing or what?” Davie wanted to shout. If any-one had been able to hear him over this racket. The hot air in the room wafted of stale beer and sweeter aromas, coins and notes still being flung onto the middle of the table by the baying mob.
The scorpion, big dirty 8, was motionless except for the occasional quiver of its stinger. Was it unaware of its predicament? Davie reached up to Minty, tugging on his bare tattooed flesh. “C’mon min, just get on with it”.
Minty nodded, and let out the piercing whistle that haunted Davie from every wake-up assembly. The mob recalled its discipline with a capital D and obeyed.
“Right quiet good. No more bets to be placed. This is 4th squad against 8th. We start when the phones are ready. And remember, no bombing the frame”
Time to focus on the task at hand Davie. He placed one hand on the glass, trying to forget about the sharp and pointy contents. Blonde mustache opposite slid the matchbox open revealing another scorpion, a tad smaller compared to dirty 8. Would that make any difference to the outcome?
Phones were out now, ready to capture the action. A veiny pulse in his forehead alerting Davie to his tension. “10 seconds – a long long pause just enough for Davie to regret his recent life choices before - 5” then just a silent hand folding down fingers. “BEGIN”
Davie made himself smile at the closest phone pointed at his face although in reality is was more of a grimace. Then with one swift motion he lifted the glass with one hand and grabbed dirty 8 below the stinger with his other. Forcing a leer to the camera he took hold of the doomed scorpion and while staring into the camera lens he tilted his head back and dropped big dirty 8 into his mouth.
He crunched down hard, one, twice, thrice, making sure to incapacitate the beastie before it could do much damage with pincher or stinger. He felt some vile fluid flood into his mouth as the exoskeleton tore apart. He tried to swallow and felt some bile rising in return. Chew it chew it chew this foul little beastie, don’t spit it out swallow don’t spit it out swallow.
Davie clamoured for the nearest bottle like a drowning man and took a swig and then swallowed once more. He felt the last gritty foul paste that used to be dirty 8 wash down his gullet. He was covered in sweat as he forced a weak smile to the camera as he said the words to complete his ordeal ‘don’t forget to like and subscribe’.