He's dead! cries Terence.
Surely not, says Gaius.
He stops eating his famous cheescake and looks at the skink.
A slight muscular spasm ripples through Easter Morning.
Not dead, decides Gaius.
But rigid, says Pierre-Louis.
It's the pink item he swallowed, says Gaius. Best to let nature take its course.
What does that mean? asks Terence.
He will either digest or excrete it, says Gaius.
Or both, says Pierre-Louis.
Or both, agrees Gaius.
How long will that take? asks Terence.
A day or two, says Gaius. Perhaps you could massage his belly. It might speed things up.
Okay, says Terence.
He rubs Easter Morning's belly.
Brrrp! burps Easter Morning.
He's better already! cries Terence.
Nrrrp! says Easter Morning.
The kid at the next table comes over.
Hey! Is your skink okay?
No! says Terence. He swallowed a pink thing that wasn't a grasshopper.
Mrrrp! says Easter Morning.
He is trying to say moth. But can only get out the first letter.
Will he die? asks the kid.
No, says Terence. Not if I massage his belly.
Can I have a turn? asks the kid.
Okay, says Terence.
The kid rubs Easter Morning's belly.
Phrrrp!
A moth emerges from Easter Morning's cloaca.
Yuck! says Terence.
It sure was! says the moth.
You're supposed to be dead, says Terence.
I was resting, says the moth, and suddenly got swallowed. And then a long thing pushed me out. It could have been a grasshopper's insides. That's what it felt like.
It wasn't, says Terence. It was something pink they put on top of my milkshake.
I thought they only did sprinkles, says the moth.
Wrong, says Terence. Anyway you were lucky.
Yes I was, says the moth. If you only count the last thing that happened and not the first thing.
Terence thinks about this.
The moth is right.
He was not always lucky.
The moth has recovered enough now. It tries to fly off.
But only makes it to the next table, before needing a rest break.
Bang! A fist comes down.
Dad! cries the kid, running back to the table.
It was a moth, says his dad.
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