Little Green Monster

Because this is Australia, it seems my adventures in wildlife are neverending.

Walking home from class, the sun is already setting. I’m knocking my fist on the hollow poles that line the path, and relishing the hollow metallic echo it makes. But as I wind up for the next pitch, something makes me stop short. A speck of green on the top of the short pole.

I go in for a closer look. It’s something quite foreign to me; a crazed cross between a spider and a scorpion, with an unusual tail that I can’t match to either. Bright flashy green, with a bulging brown eye in the center of its head. Quasimodo in the flesh (chitin, really).

I grab for my camera. It’s nowhere to be found. Cursing my naïve assumption that I wouldn’t see anything cool. There isn’t a day that goes by that I didn’t wish I had my camera handy. Instead, I settle on the vastly inferior cameraphone. This creature must be documented, in the name of science.

Seeing as your average cameraphone has no zoom, I slowly inched closer and closer towards the beast. Held my breath. Prayed I wouldn’t spook it off before I got the moneyshot. Clearly, I had the wrong fear.

Without warning, it pounced on me. Hopped a good 50 times its own body length, and right onto my hand. Reared up. AHHHHHHHH! Before it could strike (I hope), I shook my wrist like the world’s most camp flamer, with Parkinson’s, having a seizure. Did a little full-body jig. I didn’t see where, or if, the centimeter-long fiend flew. It could’ve very well crawled into my collar, like that mutated alien bee crawled in Scully’s collar in that remarkably shitty feature-length X-Files movie.

Then I took a deep breath, and walked home. I’m probably fine. Or maybe I’ll collapse from a slow acting neurotoxin during dinner. A comedic final faceplant into what is inevitably pumpkin soup (as it is every night). Exit, stage left.