Eli, I don’t think this is a good idea.
Nonsense, Emile. I am not going to let David get away with it. He just took the best spot in the house!
I’m not even sure his name is David, whispered Emile.
THAT’s your worry? snapped Eli.
Emile had a set look in his eyes. You go ahead, Eli. I’m not coming.
Pah! Lily-livered sap! spat Eli viciously.
Emile watched as Eli’s arthropod limbs scampered up the wooden door frame, right into “David’s” trap.
Compound lenses gleaming, eight joints flexing, David softly said, ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall’.
Word count: 100
Written for the Rochelle Weisoff Fields’ Friday Fictioneers-