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Title: Denial
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 628
Silently he regarded the small ball of creamy white. She’d positioned it up in the corner. He’d really have to reach if he wanted to remove it, that or get a broom and considering what a broom might do breaking open the tenderly wrapped contents… Vacuum would be better… IF he put a pest strip in the bag. Digging deep into the well of denial, he decided to wait and see, after all they’d be small at first, easier to kill.
Little dots scrambled when he found them. As long as they weren’t in his immediate vicinity or likely to be he ignored them as best he could. They’ll take care of those gnats in the water of the bath drain when those little flying pests hatched out. He hated those for they seemed to think noses and eyes were places to visit, crawling over sensitive skin seeking access to moist places. The tiny webs were almost unnoticeable in comparison.
There were small desiccated bodies left behind. It was a small price to pay to sweep those up off tile floor and on window sill where they’d been dropped. Littering wasn’t the prerogative of humans only, it seemed. The amused little voice that poked self fun at him snorted that he’d be much more worried if the small corpses started appearing in the bathroom wastebasket only. At least he knew they were working for their rent and that they were eating well. The paranoid thoughts of what they would eat instead if nothing else was available, he strictly fended off.
Insect detritus was less in evidence lately, he vaguely noticed. The webs were fewer too. Fat, well fed bodies could be plainly seen lurking up in the corners even without his glasses clearing the mists of myopia. Those mists had protected him, the paranoia problem was starting to rap firmly on his consciousness in warning. He moved his things further along the sink counter away from the perceived apparent threats.
Then came the day when there were only two, the hungry victors facing off, eyeing each other. It shouldn’t be that he could feel them watch him, their eyes were many and complexly arranged which should not lend themselves to giving the impression of weighing up prey. A frisson of unease chilled his back. Tomorrow he’d buy the pesticide bomb, he told himself. Today wasn’t possible for a foray for such a purchase, he had a full schedule to contend with.
The police first pounded on the door then when no answer came then broke in the door.
“Mr. Alexander? Police, Mr. Alexander. Your School called concerned that you’ve been absent.”
A gasp came from the first officer, “Here! He’s in here!,” he called out dragging his firearm out.
“Looks like he’s been dead since the first day they reported him missing. He pretty hollow looking. Better bring an extra canister of the stuff. There’s two of the things.”
They set off the Spider-be –Gone bombs, scrambling to exit out the door and then spraying themselves liberally to prevent any infestation spreading further.
“That’s the third one in this neighborhood,” the officer commented nervously, glancing at the houses situated to the sides. “You’d think the city administration would put out a notice, so people would get things taken care of before it got to this stage.“
“People are procrastinators,” his partner said shrugging. “The city better get the fumigators out before it’s the rest of the area littered with husks.”
Neither of them noticed the eight legged dot floating with intent on its thread of silk, gracefully landing amongst the thick black strands decorating Sgt. Davidson’s head. The precinct jail cells, called the tombs, would be well colonized by the end of the month before anything was noticed.
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 628
Silently he regarded the small ball of creamy white. She’d positioned it up in the corner. He’d really have to reach if he wanted to remove it, that or get a broom and considering what a broom might do breaking open the tenderly wrapped contents… Vacuum would be better… IF he put a pest strip in the bag. Digging deep into the well of denial, he decided to wait and see, after all they’d be small at first, easier to kill.
Little dots scrambled when he found them. As long as they weren’t in his immediate vicinity or likely to be he ignored them as best he could. They’ll take care of those gnats in the water of the bath drain when those little flying pests hatched out. He hated those for they seemed to think noses and eyes were places to visit, crawling over sensitive skin seeking access to moist places. The tiny webs were almost unnoticeable in comparison.
There were small desiccated bodies left behind. It was a small price to pay to sweep those up off tile floor and on window sill where they’d been dropped. Littering wasn’t the prerogative of humans only, it seemed. The amused little voice that poked self fun at him snorted that he’d be much more worried if the small corpses started appearing in the bathroom wastebasket only. At least he knew they were working for their rent and that they were eating well. The paranoid thoughts of what they would eat instead if nothing else was available, he strictly fended off.
Insect detritus was less in evidence lately, he vaguely noticed. The webs were fewer too. Fat, well fed bodies could be plainly seen lurking up in the corners even without his glasses clearing the mists of myopia. Those mists had protected him, the paranoia problem was starting to rap firmly on his consciousness in warning. He moved his things further along the sink counter away from the perceived apparent threats.
Then came the day when there were only two, the hungry victors facing off, eyeing each other. It shouldn’t be that he could feel them watch him, their eyes were many and complexly arranged which should not lend themselves to giving the impression of weighing up prey. A frisson of unease chilled his back. Tomorrow he’d buy the pesticide bomb, he told himself. Today wasn’t possible for a foray for such a purchase, he had a full schedule to contend with.
The police first pounded on the door then when no answer came then broke in the door.
“Mr. Alexander? Police, Mr. Alexander. Your School called concerned that you’ve been absent.”
A gasp came from the first officer, “Here! He’s in here!,” he called out dragging his firearm out.
“Looks like he’s been dead since the first day they reported him missing. He pretty hollow looking. Better bring an extra canister of the stuff. There’s two of the things.”
They set off the Spider-be –Gone bombs, scrambling to exit out the door and then spraying themselves liberally to prevent any infestation spreading further.
“That’s the third one in this neighborhood,” the officer commented nervously, glancing at the houses situated to the sides. “You’d think the city administration would put out a notice, so people would get things taken care of before it got to this stage.“
“People are procrastinators,” his partner said shrugging. “The city better get the fumigators out before it’s the rest of the area littered with husks.”
Neither of them noticed the eight legged dot floating with intent on its thread of silk, gracefully landing amongst the thick black strands decorating Sgt. Davidson’s head. The precinct jail cells, called the tombs, would be well colonized by the end of the month before anything was noticed.
