I killed something the other night. Something I’d call a thousand-legger. A centipede? A millipede? I have no idea. It was late at night, and my vision detected movement along the floorboard. A centipede or a millipede…no matter. It was moving quickly, with lots of legs, and it was creepy. I knew I had to be swift, firm, and aggressive, and I had to completely kill this menacing bug if I intended to sleep. No half-smacks. It was standing still (all those legs motionless), and this was my chance. I had to move without hesitation. Like really, there I was, the day’s chores complete, teeth brushed and flossed, and I grabbed the weapon of choice (a wad of tissue). I stood there (shoeless), it stood there (with all those legs), both of us poised, ready. I’d already seen it move, and I knew I had to bring my A-game. I moved quickly, grabbed it and squeezed, and breathed a sigh of relief. The bug was more or less crushed in my wad of tissue. Emphasis on ‘more or less’.
A brief moment of examination …
And then it moved … what was left of it moved. Yikes! This half-dead bug moved enough to escape the tissue and brush its creepy legs against my finger. I felt it…tickling my finger!! Eeech, creepy, creepy, creepy!!
My instincts kicked in. Without pause, I moved, and what was left of the thousand-legger dropped off my finger into the water, which, woosh, swiftly washed it away.
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On a warm summer’s evening … simple words … my favorite kind of words … packed with age-old nuance and memories.
Credit: The Gambler, performed by Kenny Rogers (1978), written by Don Schlitz.
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etikser 