i have vermin in my house.
they are large, scary, insectoid type beings with big brown exoskeletons and lots of terrifying wavy tentacles. they sneak up around the sides of the oven and scavenge for food, and when i try to squish them, they scurry back into an impossibly tiny crack through which even my small hands cannot fit.
tonight i was baking a pumpkin cheesecake pie and one came creeping out from under the tea kettle. frustration welled up inside me as i reached for the nearest squishable weapon and once again it slipped back into the darkness before i could end its life.
it was a big bug. my mind began to wander and i began to imagine what it must be like to be this horrible, ugly insect. for some reason i started to picture it as an epic struggle, a constant battle for survival in a world where you are viciously hunted by loud, ungainly giants with kitchen spatulas and william sonoma aprons.
the insects suddenly have british accents and the largest one is gathering the smaller ones around him, saying a low, urgent tone, "listen, you must flee to the hills if i don't return before midnight," and the littlest ones are crying and being shushed by their mothers, when suddenly the air is filled with the deadly mist through which the faint outline of a large tube with "Raid" written on it–
–and then i remembered that the pie was going to burn.
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