Since the last fortnight, almost every evening cicak a will ask cicak b the same old question, “What’s for dinner?” And the reply seemed forever be the same, “Mosquitoes.”

On an ominous Sunday evening, I heard a crackling sound of crushed mesepisternum from behind the curtains in the living room. The sound continued with the gapping of fractured postclypeus. My spines started to chill. I couldn’t concentrate on the telly anymore. I went to the sliding door and looked behind the curtains.

Two domestic lizards were feasting on a dragonfly.

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