“why?! why?! why?!”
“What?”

Then she tells me what. An unwelcome guest. In the shower.
We live in the city and there are bugs. There are bugs where people are.
Maybe people are bugs. (ever think’a that? No, you only think about yourself)

I come into the bathroom, our bathroom, she covers up (though we had just had sex not half an hour ago, [but maybe you’re not supposed to know that). She’s still fetching, in that towel from Target. I look. “Really, Christy?” side-eyed. “Will you kill it please?” puppy-eyed.

I picture my friend (he’s vegan now) reprimanding me for killing something ‘just because it’s in the way.’ I could then tell him about the cricket that sang me to sleep four nights ago. Then I remember. I picture myself as Muldoon the Witch-hunter, Torvald the reluctant, dwarven Prince, or Rhogar the Dragonkin who slayed the Orc War-Boss of Ursul. I arm myself and crush (literally) mine enemies (with a square of toilet paper), legs splayed and crooked, I feel the torso pop between my thumb and forefinger. I like it, I shouldn’t. Just another geek. Rescuing his distressed damsel from a beast threatening her livelihood.

Just like the novels I lose myself in.

Wolfe