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The Wasp
A True Tale of Abstract TERROR

 

'Twas half past the sixth hour of the morn.

I awoke, as if from a heavy slumber. In fact, dear reader, I woke exactly as if from a heavy slumber. Because, y'know, I was slumbering heavily just prior to waking. Much as days for gentry folk and peasants alike are apt to start.

 

What roused me from such blissful sleep, you ask? What man or beast dare hath the impudence to disturb a fine fellow from his repose with such a hideous cacophony?

A buzzing of the loudest sort was in commence. 'Twas a sound so furious that I was such prompted to raise from my bunk, and yelled in couplet, "Satan! It must be he, for no mortal on Earth can emit such a hellish sonority! Alas, take flight from my chamber, and take thine ethereal pneumatic drill with ye!"

A brutish noise came to the Devil's accompaniment - the sound of my brother-in-law in the neighbouring room, angered and cursing at the calamity taking place mere yards away.

Mine brother's bitter pleas for quiet served to bring me to my senses. My torment was not being caused by Lucifer at all, but by that of a wasp - indeed, the next worst thing to the most loathsome of fallen angels.



It quickly became apparent to my befuddled senses. That the foul beast was 'twixt between my azure curtains and the window, one partially opened to provide the comfort of cool air to me during the night. I attempted to ignore the insane buzzing and waited for the sandman to come once again and return me to solice. I appeared to be in some fortune, as the buzzing ceased. Had the insect of eternal annoyance returned to its origins of nature, using the open window as a portal for escape?

Bleary eyed did I scan the room, too fearful to open the curtains and inspect the scene therein. However, such a task had been rendered unnecessary - to my horror, the monstrosity had broken through its material prison and was crawing down the other side of the curtain, no doubt waiting for the perfect opportunity to kill me.



The terror was too much for me. If my animal instincts had not taken a hold of my brain in that moment, I would most certainly have swooned. I fled my bed chamber clad only in the skin I was born with, being sure to seal the entrance behind me in an effort to confine the feind.

Scant minutes later I returned, fearfully, armed with a pressurised can filled with the most noxious and deadly fumes known to man. I held it to my chest, in a manner much like a club, and crossed the threshold to the chamber. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more unto the breach.

Perhaps sensing with its unholy senses my lethal intentions, the wasp had retreated back behind the curtains, buzzing madly against the pane yonder. Tentatively approach the enemy did I, extending the can threateningly. I parted the curtains a mere crack and blindly let loose with a barrage of chemicals, hoping to fell my tormentor. To my misfortune and poor skill, the attack caused naught effect save to anger the wasp. A counter attack was duly launched against mine face.



In fright, I ducked the flying devil and delivered a direct blow to its body with the metal cylinder. It thusly dropped to the carpet, foolishly allowing itself a few seconds on the floor to regain its composure. It was then, dear friends, that I merrily dealt the finishing blow, dosing the fallen in toxic fumes.

As it lay, flexing its many horrible limbs in agony, no doubt praying for the accepting maw of death, I took the time to affix my optical aids to my face for the first time that morn. Everything became as clear as a summer's day, and with great reluctance I studied the conquered as it entered the final stages of its death throes.

I was victorious.


Or was I?

Turns out I had successfully and skillfully entered into a savage duel with a bluebottle, and won.

Utilizing the only good that a Capital One credit card leaflet can offer, I scooped up the poor fly with the card and deposited it out of the window, allowing it the dignity of dying in the caring arms of Mother Nature.

Sighing with melancholy, I return to my bunk and laid my gentle head on the pillow. As half-sleep engulfed me, images of wasps as big as people flooded my brain and promptly wigged me out. I tried to dilute these horrors by imagining them wearing top-hats, but the powers of the subconscious were too formidable to battle. Instead, I could not help but imagine these same wasps that terrorize our lands in a tiny scale - so miniscule, in fact, that their sole purpose was to locate and burrow their way into our human urethras as we slept.

After tossing and turning for some mintues, my efforts to banish these nightmarish pictures from my mind were futile. In ill health from a mere three hour sleep, I grudgingly shambled to my computing device and supplied it the necessary power.

Wrote a short story, did I.

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