The rock was heavy but not: it had a hole in it.In the hole were two small scorpions, pinkish-gray. They were sleeping.I carried the rock around the house and showed the scorpions to the dogs. They were not impressed.The scorpions woke up and the war began — I flung the rock and flapped my hand as the smaller of the two scorpions had crawled out and onto my flesh.I crushed them: one by dropping the rock on it and standing on the rock, the other by stomping.I lifted the rock and saw a dark stain on the rug from where the small scorpion met its demise, its carcass lay crushed to the left of the stain.The second, larger scorpion was in two pieces: it wasn’t real. Its mechanical innards showed like the gears inside a timepiece.And then, I woke up.
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