Flea Games, Chapter 2: Harbali

Previous Chapter(s):

• Chapter One

Harbali had grown up in the usual fashion under the usual circumstances. His mother, being a vivacious flea, had already given birth five times previously by the time of his conception, and as a result, his egg was nothing spectacular. Hatched in the bed of a scruffy and unkempt German Shepherd, his fifteen brothers and four sisters had eagerly devoured leftover bits of feces, growing in fervor, while listening to the teachings of Flallah pronounced by the elder flea scholars. Even as they spun their cocoons, the message of salvation penetrated their every thoughts.

A week had passed in the silken nest, and as the vibrations grew louder, Harbali knew it was time to emerge from his slumber. He fiercely broke through the tender lining and found the ample paws of the unsuspecting canine. Leaping into his transformation, he left his childhood behind and clung to the hairs of the front paw before him, wiggling onto the skin and sinking his tube-like mouth into the flesh. The rich blood passed through him as if it were an elixir of life. Never had anything tasted so good.

When his host decided to run away from home two days later, Harbali was an innocent passenger along for the ride. Tossed to and fro on the back of the German Shepherd, he had clung to both skin and hairs, wondering what mission Flallah had sent him towards, trusting that all would be well. As destiny would have it, he had lost his grip as the canine rushed through a neighboring yard and was flung through the air onto a paved driveway.

Groping about, Harbali pricked his minuscule flea ears, and at once, was met with the sounds of devotion coming directly in front of him. Instinctively drawn to the beautiful noise, he crept along the driveway, sneaking under the garage door, and officially arrived at the headquarters of the radical flea extremist sect known as Flarul Flislam. The multitude of flea brethren welcomed him with open legs, and immediately, a sense of fate washed over Harbali.

Little did he know, though, that this was also the house of one classic American ginger tabby and one officially insane diluted calico, or as Flarul Flislam referred to them as, "the infidels of the West".