How I Killed the Bugger

I relaxed in my bed after a hard night of cleaning about half my room. I am now convinced The Dreaded Centipede is indeed gone, having spent the better part of 3 hours stomping around and moving things to ensure this. So I now snuggle into my new made bed, feeling itches and tingles every other minute, instead of every minute. I relax and feel the built up tension ease away.

I slept soundly that night, The Dreaded Centipede no longer on my mind. I wake the following morning only to discover that my hard work fixing the hole in my bed did not hold, and I once again had sank to the floor. So I grab the blessed orange tube with the words Contact Cement on it once again and set to work, squeezing half the tubes content onto the hole, and covering it with a patch.

I let my eyes wander around the room, and see that my beloved Nintendo is being quite neglected and thus decide to rectify the situation with some stress relieving video game playing.

After finishing, I let my eyes drift to the other half of the room. Fear begins to nest in my heart as I stare at the pile of clothes, the pile of clothes that I didn't organize before I went to bed.

The nest of fear grows in my heart as I began to think it looks like the perfect place to hide a murderous centipede. I began to look for my Bio-Hazard Suit, before remembering I don't have one.

I will have to rectify that mistake as soon as I can.

Sitting on my perfectly plumped up air mattress I begin to wonder if maybe I should just organize the clothes. A small part of my mind reminds me that I am not only bigger than The Dreaded Centipede, but also able to kill it far easier than it would be able to kill me. Fear quickly conquered that part of my brain.

My hair picked this moment to play a cruel prank on me, tickling my arm. I yelp out loud and dash from the room, my hair merrily flailing in the wind.

I yell at my laughing hair, telling it in no uncertain terms that if it continues to misbahave I will have to cut it.

Of course, my hair isn't laughing, and it isn't malicious enough to prank me, but I don't care.

Finally, I tie my hair back, put a fierce look on my face, square my shoulders and stand with a menacing stare at my door for well over a minute. I try to think of what the soundtrack to this moment would be if I were in a movie. Eye of the Tiger.

Despite the fact that The Dreaded Centipede has not yet shown its blood-thirsty beady little eyes, I am afraid to enter my room. My domain. It is where I rule and my word is absolute. I decide that I will not be cowed by a tiny little centipede, no matter the millions of legs it has, and the fact that it is out for my blood.

I enter the room, brandishing my weapon of choice, a rolled up advertisement for Micheals Craft Store. I pull my heavy suitcase out and begin to fill it with the clothes I need. As I make my way through the pile of clothes, I become more confident that The Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede is gone.

I sort my clothes by dirty to be cleaned today, dirty to be cleaned later and clean. When I come upon a damp shirt the fear creeps up on me again. Centipedes like damp places. Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipedes like my damp shirts in particular.

I decide a break is in order. A long break is for sure in order.

I sit down, eating my delicious Chicken Cheese burger and hashbrown while I decide on a course of action. A million and one plans flash through my brain before I settle on nuking my room. I do some research on the computer and soon find, to my disappointment, that it is quite out of the question. I don't think the government will justify killing thousands of people to get rid of one Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede, no matter how I explain the situation.

My second best plan is to stomp the clothes until I'm sure The Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede is dead.

It was then, as I started to stomp that I see it. In all its Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede glory. Co-ordinating its millions of legs and running from my stomping.

A million thoughts go through my head in that moment, the most prominent being that I slept in a room with a centipede, but not just any centipede, The Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede. It could have touched me, crawled on me. Killed me. A shudder stronger than any previous rack my body and I bring down my hand, letting out a loud war-cry and grabbing a black shirt as I go and I squish The Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Centipede with all the strength I can muster after 2 days of mind-numbing fear.

I scrape the shirt against the floor, and lift it up, away from me. As I peer around the shirt I see the twitching legs of The Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Half-Dead Centipede.

I scrape the shirt against the floor a little bit more, just to make sure. I then stand, and do the ancient dance of the victor.

"I won I won I won. Ha In your face Dreaded Blood-Thirsty Completely Dead Centipede. Oooooh YEAH!!!!!"

I win the battle. Who knows how long the war will last.