Dead Meat

Dead Meat

'Come here you squirt - you're dead meat this time!' shouted Dono,
known to all as Predator. He was the school bully - immense and it was
no secret that he had been held back in fifth grade three times, and he
was rich. Not millionaire status perhaps, but in kid terms he was
rolling. He had been the bully five years and had his daily share of
dinner money, pocket money and school trip money, it didn't matter what
type, just that it was cold, hard cash.
Grip, known as Prey, sped down the small gap between the shed and the
bike rack, thinking on his feet, and all his brain was telling him was,
you don't have a choice but to think on your feet - otherwise you'll be
crushed. Grip dived for a tidy pile of raked leaves, and wriggled in
between them. And waited.
Dono, meanwhile, had lost sight of 'Prey' or 'Squirt'. He was not
pleased. He decided to hunt around, and stooping low he looked in all
the ordinary hiding places.
'Aargh!' shouted Grip, pouncing on Dono's immense backside, and
crawling up Dono's back and pulling his hair so that Dono was virtually
immobile. He leafed through wide pockets and found money. Cold, hard
cash that did not belong to the bully. He smiled, and as he did so,
loosened his grip. And Dono scurried off, screaming. And Grip flipped
the quarter into his pocket and whistled as he walked home.