ding, ding, ding. Round 2

It was 4:24 in the morning. I couldn't sleep. I tried to convince myself that your noises were soothing, and some people use you to drift off to sleep. But not me.

I was angry. I had spent multiple nights awake by you. You were annoying me, and I wanted you gone.

I had had it. Enough was enough. I was going to find you. You were mine.

I went to the living room and flipped on the light. Silence. Whoever coined the term "Silence is golden" was obviously not searching for a demon monster in the form of a cricket.

As I entered the kitchen, I knew what I had to do. The war was raging, and so was my anger. I was going to kill you. I pulled the drawer out from under the stove. It overflowed of pans, muffin tins and cookie sheets--all of which made a loud clanking sound as soon as the drawer came free. I peered under the stove, but all I saw was a couple of your friends who hadn't made it out alive. Mr. June Bug was on his back, as if he passed out from exhaustion. Mr. Beetle was on his side, but I could tell he had been there for quite sometime. His body was gray, as if it was in the midst of decaying. But you were no where to be seen.

I decided this called for drastic measures. I grabbed the can of Raid out from under my sink. It said it was for roaches, but I assumed it would work for crickets just as well. I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed the can underneath my stove, assuming that was where you were hiding. The thought crossed my mind that this could be flamable and I would be in a world of hurt if it was since I was spraying it directly under the stove, but I had to get rid of you. I was at my wits end.

I went back to bed with a feeling of victory. I was smarter than you. I had devised a way to get rid of you once and for all.

But then, to my shock and dismay, I heard you. You sounded faint at first, but then you got louder and louder. I jumped from bed, and ran to the kitchen. I was done playing Mr. Nice Guy. Your game was over. I was finished.

I searched the kitchen again, moving everything in my path. But you messed up. You got careless in your hiding and I heard you. I turned around and grabbed the Shark Steamer that I had borrowed from my mom to clean my floors. And there, right underneath, was your hiding place. I was amazed that I had found you, and you had hidden somewhere so easily to find. Why had I not looked here before?

I glanced down at you, and noticed you were missing a leg. I wondered if that was from your toilet escape. You must be a Board Certified Scuba Diver to escape the vortex. For a miniscule of a second, I felt sorry for you, but that was very short lived.

I grabbed my flip flop that was sitting by the door. I wondered how it got there. Perhaps God knew that you were driving me to a point of chaos, and was giving me a hand to finish you off once an for all.

I attacked. It was brutal. I beat you until your guts were splattered on the floor. I was pretty sure the second blow had done it, but the third was just for mere satisfaction that I had conquered you. I had achieved victory.

I left you in the floor. I wasn't quite sure why, but I wanted to wake up to the sight of my victory in the morning, which would be the perfect start to a new day. Finally--I could rest.

I awoke this morning with a smile. I went about my daily morning routine as usual--showering, drying my hair, getting dressed and waking up Zoie around 6:50 am. When I called for her, I had to share my exciting victorious news. She immediately wanted to see the spoils of our battle.

I took her to the living room and showed her the crime scene. She crouched down with her hands on her knees, surveying the damage. She looks at me with wide eyes, and says, "Mommy, it's not dead!" I assured her that there was no way you could have survived the murder that I had bestowed upon you. But, to appease her, I looked anyway. And low-and-behold, your antennae were moving. You little devil. How you survived was beyond me. But that was the last straw.

I went to the bathroom and grabbed some toilet paper. I was getting rid of you for good.

I told Zoie to stay there, and I scooped you up, guts and all. I went outside to throw you in the trash, but decided my trash can was too close. I didn't want to give you a chance to annoy me ever again. So I walked across the street and two houses down, and disposed of you. There--it was done.

As I brushed off my hands and returned to the house, I was content. Victory was mine... for good.