Flea Games, Chapter 13: Define infidel

"Do you think she suspects something?"

"I cannot walk past her! She will inhale me into her gaping nostrils of death!"

"I knew I should have never left the caves!"

The fleas that marched behind Harbali seemed restless, agitated, and overall, completely useless. Yes, they were moving forward, but the presence of the long and lean silver infidel had struck a chord of fear into their tiny hearts.

Harbali turned around and faced his nervous brethren, raising his feelers into the air: "The silver infidel is not as wise as the golden one. Look how she sleeps while death approaches. She is clueless!"

From the front, one of the fleas cried, "Perhaps she sleeps as a mere ploy! It is folly to underestimate one's enemy!"

There were murmurings of agreement to this statement, but Harbali waved them away, saying, "I have never known the infidels to 'fake' sleep. They spend nearly 15 to 16 hours of Flallah's day sleeping. If they're 'faking', then they certainly have very pathetic lives to engage in such nonsense."

The throng of fleas all nodded their heads to Harbali's logic:

"He's right - that would be pathetic!"

"Why did we ever doubt him?"

"So much sleep seems so peaceful!"

Harbali could not believe how his brothers were behaving. It was almost as if they thought he were leading them on some sort of field trip. He waved his feelers into the air once more, crying, "Brothers, silence! How can we have a proper jihad if everyone is talking and carrying on?"

The crowd suddenly became quite still, practically frozen. Harbali leaned back and smiled to himself. He was indeed a leader to manage such an unruly group of soldiers. Beaming with pride, he turned around to begin the march when, to his surprise, a pair of golden eyes, a pink, wet nose, and a twitching mouth stood but inches from his body.

"Oh Flallah, have mercy," he whispered.

The silver infidel sat back on her haunches and said casually, "Who's Flallah?"

Harbali, unable to stop the thundering beats of his tiny, miniscule heart, fainted.

Turning to the quivering mass behind the fallen body, the silver infidel said, "Um, I think he might need some help over here."

Whispers and hushed words coagulated in the air while Isis sat still, observing. Finally, a few members of the congregation crept forward and quickly pulled the tiny flea's body back into the safety of the crowd. Isis nodded and then turned to make her way back into the house when cries sprang up behind her:

"Wait! Silver infidel! Wait!"

Isis did not turn around for she absolutely had no clue what an infidel was or that she happened to be one. She had figured out the mystery of the garage, and all she cared about was reporting back to her impatient brother. She passed through the pet door silently, leaving the teeming crowd speechless.