|Courtesy of en.wikipedia.org|
‘Tag!’ A finger jabbed my shoulder. ‘You’re It!’
The others shrieked and fled, then turned and ventured nearer to tease me.
‘You’re It, you’re It! You can’t catch me!’
I chased, lunged and grabbed at air, to hoots of laughter.
But Charlie Gee was fat and slow. I saw him stop, gasping.
‘I’m not playing.’ He leaned on his knees.
I pounced. ‘You’re It!’
‘I said I’m not playing!’
‘You’re It!’ we shouted.
Charlie stood up, staring, twitching. He bared his teeth; his hands curled. From fat fingers, raptor claws erupted. It leaped and swiped, roaring; tearing ribbons of flesh.