Lizard Killer

It was during lunch; a much needed break from the morning home learning session. The kids don’t complain that they can’t play with their friends or go to school; “Is the virus still here?”, they ask, in grown-up acceptance. But they do voice reluctance in practising ABCs with Mum. Before lunch there was an ‘up-cycling’ project – which is a new-age term for crafting something out of egg cartons. We fashioned eye patches and daggers out of the Amazon delivery cardboard boxes. 

“Pirates have blood-curling names” I had told them. The twins take a moment. “Dragon-hunter!” , one said. “Just ‘Captain’ for me,” said the one who covers his eyes when spooky cartoons come on.

The twins are lost in their world; brandishing their daggers, walking the plank. I clock this moment of calm. It will not last, I know. As if in answer: “FIRE!”, and rice stuck to their fingers are shot across the table like a cannon. Their deck-hand is usually eager to clean up; her head bobbing up and down around the table, like a bright buoy in a storm. But the dog does not appear from under the table.

When I looked under the table, I screamed – the way I did when I went to take the ball out of the Snow’s mouth to play catch, only to realise I almost grasped at greasy feathers of a bird clutched lifelessly in her jaws. In between the dog’s white fluffy paws lay a mangled lizard, already turning a shade of blue.

The kids squealed. “Lizard Killer!” The three abandon their lunch. They aboard the treehouse, which is now a ship. Snow, the fearless, joining their ranks. Leaving Mum behind, to clean up the left-overs, including the lizard.