SCABs

Good Morning my Little Ones. By @SergeantPluck

By Tom Flynn

Good Morning my Little Ones.

  • Mornin’, you alright mates?

They chittered in unison, as they were want to do on the sunnier days.

  • Shhh, take it easy, you’ll wake up Dean yeah.

The hundred or so small red patterned crabs covering his bedroom floor abruptly ceased their chorus. Some scuttling under the clothing occupying what was left of the space on the floor at the mention of their upstairs neighbour.

  • Nawh don’t want to wake up Dean do we?

Their silence served as affirmation. Jacob stretched, making attempts not to disturb the larger crustaceans still sleeping at his feet.  The sun streamed through a gap in the curtains as he got out of bed, reflecting off the claws raised in fraternal salute to their great protector, casting jagged rose-coloured shards around the room.

  • Look like that prodigy album you lot do, peak.

He walked to the bathroom. They followed in unison, swarming around his feet like schools of fish. He ran water over his tooth brush before squeezing a pea sized dollop of toothpaste onto it,

  • Oi, get away from that mustachio.

he squawked with a mouth full of tooth paste at one of the crabs pulling at the shower curtain.

  • Fuckin’ spenny that.

They waited patiently outside the door while he bathed and relieved himself but resumed their cloying once he was out and dressed.

  • Alright, be careful on the bus yeah, big day today, don’t have time to be taking anyone to hospital.

They made their way to the bus stop. His hard-shelled companions for the most part waited patiently, but some did try to spar with passing birds from the top of the bus stop. Their shuffling was cacophonic and yet none of the other commuters seemed to notice their presence.

Jacob looked at the crab closest to him, it was perched on the bench beside him, menacing its own reflection in the glass.

  • They’re so disconnected mob, always on their phones, don’t even notice the world around them.

The crab waved its claws in agreement.

  • Yeah peak innit.

He boarded the bus without incident, with his entourage swelling in after him, rushing to find somewhere safe to nestle for the five-minute trip, several of the smaller ones managing to perch in the hand loops hanging from the rails.

The bus stopped across from the studio.

  • I know you don’t like roads boys, but be brave just for today yeah, we’re almost there.

Jacob walked into the middle of the street, raising his hand to halt the mini cooper coming down the road. He waved the crabs across the road, standing still with his hand outstretched until the last one had mounted the curb on the opposite sides. The driver stared at him, looking almost afraid.

  • Civilians am I right melodious?

One of those scuttling paused to tug at his shoe laces.

They barrelled into the studio as a mass. Dan sat waiting, a coffee and bowl of porridge posed in front of him. He didn’t even look up from his copy of the guardian,

  • Ready then?
  • You know it mate, gonna smash it.

He looked to the crabs grinning, they shuffled and chittered frantically in anticipation.

They were first to pitch, the clients and the rest of the agency were gathered in the seats in the pit. Between each of them and in every other available space were seated the chorus of crabs. As always Dan opened,

  • Oak furniture. It’s probably the most stable thing in your family.

They client nodded, Jacob relaxed.

  • We them now rimuru, plain sailing from here.

he muttered to the crab resting on his shoulder. The rest of the pitch was picture perfect. Jacob came to the closing lines,

  • And in the final scene of the ident, the little girl kisses her mum goodnight. Then she turns and reaches under bed. She picks up a box. She opens it and inside there’s crabs. Just a box full of crabs. They’re everywhere. They out of the box. They’re on the celling. They’re crawling all over her. The girl is a crab now the house is a crab they’re all crabs that’s our money shot crab forty-eight sheets with crabs on twitter crabs on Instagram crab tshirts boxers and matching lounge wear crabs on big fucking tvs all across the country just fucking crabs crabs forever and always ahem all hail the crab long live the crab.

He was out of breath when he finished, the applause was rapturous, his invertebrate brethren were filling the room with their joy and approval, snapping their claws and stomping their feet, it was ineffable high, a revelation, alone enough to justify the existence of life itself.

He turned to Dan, smiling,

  • Smashed it mate.

Dan was pale, staring at him, there was fear in his eyes. It was suddenly quiet in the room. Deathly quiet. He turned to the crowd. Only stunned human faces stared back at him. His crabs were gone. He was alone.   

 

The copy scores 79.8 in the Flesch Reading Ease test

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