Killing a bug

If you have ever killed a bug larger than your average bee or horsefly than you know the smell that they emit when their fragile bodies are crushed by the weight of the nearest book or helpful flip-flop. I must say (and I do not believe this fits with my general character) that I am absolutely terrified of flying bugs, particularly bees or wasps or bumbles. It might be the waning memory of my innocent sweet young left leg being stung by a nest mad with revenge for me killing one of their own, mad with desire for the syrup sliding down my calf, manuvering the canals between the baby soft hair that lived on my leg. Or maybe it is the maddening incessant hum of their busy wings- or the carefree innate allusive navigation they posses. Perhaps it is the way a flighted insect cuts through the air and owns all space it occupies- for you see they can stand, crawl and of course fly and of course dance threateningly at my fear, moving closer claiming mutual domain as their own territory. How brash! Such a small being believing it can challenge me, knowing it can evoke fear so much so it would make my body, infinitely bigger than its tiny form, flail and cower.

After an odd evening spent in pensive poise and reflection, after I climbed the spiral staircase to my attic room, while juggling a laptop, three notebooks and a glass of wine-To my absolute horror I heard that gnarly buzz of insect wings lurking in the dark corner where my bed lives. It was a beetle like one I had never seen before and although my viceral reaction was to kill fast and without caution I still felt bad. Nonetheless, after about ten minutes of me hiding like a four year old behind a bookcase and attempting to lure the creature away from the light, I was successful in cornering the ancient beast and squashing it with an old spiral notebook from my first year of college. The whole time I maintained a look of disgust, he did nothing to me, he just was and that was enough.


And now I am only left with the sweet smell of insect death to caress my nostrils as I lean towards sleep.