FOOD COURT FOR CAIMANS

The floor of Food Court was awash with the green foam of the swamp. Darmouth students paddled slowly through the mire, their eyes and nostrils visible just above the surface of the water.

Destiny Smith ‘13, at the front of the Kosher Kitchen line, opened her long, pink mouth. Rows of jagged, age-stained teeth shone in the hard fluorescent light.

“Do you have any capybara yet?” she asked.

The servers behind the counter eyed her with vicious yellow eyes. The vertical slits of their irises tensed and narrowed.

“No,” one said. “Crocodile Passover ended only twenty minutes ago. We haven’t returned to our regular menu yet.”

“But Crocodile Passover’s over,” Destiny argued. Behind her, the line of waterborne lizards shifted uneasily. Here and there, a tooth revealed itself.

“All the food we have is still just Crocodile Passover food,” the server said. “We won’t have rice until tomorrow.”

“Why not?” Destiny rasped petulantly. Her massive cayman tongue gleamed. A small bird flew down, landed on it, and began picking at her teeth.

“That’s just how the kitchen works,” said the server. He opened his mouth, too, and showed her a broadside of glittering fangs.

Behind Destiny a student dug his teeth into her back leg. One by one, approaching slowly and lunging in the way of their lizard kind, the cold-blooded students in line turned on her and seized parts of her body. Destiny thrashed, but each of the students exerted several hundred pounds of force with each bite, and the struggle was soon over. They fought over her intestines.

“Now we have to sanitize this area again,” the server told the dishwasher. They opened their mouths wide and allowed the swampwater to slosh between their fangs. It was a crocodile smile.