When I was 14, I nearly burnt my high school down during an English class presentation. There was a scene from an Edgar Allen Poe story that I was recreating with figurines I made from wax and grass clippings. I lit the figurines on fire and watched them burn, to the class’s delight.
Then the whole thing went up in flames and when I dumped water on the display, a fireball erupted. What the hell did they put in the water at school? Fortunately I persisted, preserving our school for future generations.
I was thinking of that moment as I massacred flies in my living room this morning.
Normally I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I can put up with most inconveniences – flies in my living room being one of ’em. Sure, there might have been more than a few, but I did the dishes every morning, kept the place tidy, and garbage away. They’ll just die naturally with no food sources right?
Two became four. Four became eight. Eight became too many. I snapped. I lost it. I became Jarrett, masacrerer of flies.
[insert evil laugh]
I rolled up a Guinness bar towel and went after them, mad with murderous intent. One by one they fell. Some writhing on the floor in pain.
“Die slowly fly,” I thought to myself. “I have plans for you.”
In less than two minutes my floor was littered with dead, and half dead flies. Swept them up onto a page of outcast writing I did. Folded it in half, then half again. Squished it flat, delighting in the pop of fly corpses. Threw them in the garbage, leaving one fly corpse behind as a warning to others – not to mess with the massacreer of flies.
[add reverb to evil laugh]