Thursday, July 31, 2008

In Which I Am A Killer: Part Two - The Stand

9:12:22 PM.

A dusty Ford F-150 lumbers up a quiet dead-end road, and pulls sharply into a dirt driveway about three hundred feet up from the corner. Once in the driveway, the driver slams on the brakes. The tires lock up and dig into the dirt, causing a cloud of dust to catch the light breeze.

As the breeze carries the dust cloud into the brush lining the driveway, the doors to the truck open and a man and woman jump out. She is carrying a grocery bag in one hand, the outline of a small rectangular box pressing against the thin plastic. He is carrying nothing but the keys to the truck, and quickly puts them into his pocket.

"This better fucking work." Michael says grumpily, "If it doesn't, I'm going to torch the place."

"This should work. I mean, unless the flea's are radioactive, they shouldn't be able to live through two insect foggers." says The Boss, opening the front door to their apartment.

"Even still. We've been treating both the cat and the entire fucking house for flea's for almost two weeks now. They keep coming back! I'm sick and tired of brushing flea's off of me when I get up in the morning to take a piss."

Michael takes the bag from The Boss, and removes the carton of insect foggers. He begins reading the warning label and instructions for use, shifting every few seconds to brush a flea from his calf, skin, or ankle. "'Effectively kills adult and infant flea's and larvae'. For thirteen bucks, I'd fuckin' hope so."

"Seriously. We'll use two of 'em tomorrow, and if that doesn't work, we'll use the third one in a few days." The Boss says, kicking her flip-flops off into the corner near the door. "And if that doesn't work, then we can torch the place."

As both Michael and The Boss enter the bedroom to change into their pajama's, the cat scratches vigorously at her neck with her left rear leg. She jumps up on the back of the couch and scratches some more, depositing dozens on fleas into the various crevices and canyons between the cushions and pillows.

Unaware of the latest additions to the crumbs and spare change under the cushions, The Boss leaves the bedroom and drops onto the couch. She turns on the television, rapidly switching from channel to channel in search of anything decent to watch. Michael now stands at the kitchen counter, serving ice cream into two mugs with a large spoon.

"I'm beginning to think that the flea's we have are mutant flea's," He says over his shoulder. "For the amount of chemicals we've already tried, and we're still having problems? Unless they have a physician hidden somewhere with vaccines or drugs to counter-act what we're using to kill 'em, I can see no other feasible explanation."

"I know, right? We've given the cat a bath and used flea medication, treated the carpet and the couch with countless sprays and powders. How much more money do we need to spend before this problem gets resolved?"

He hands her her favorite mug, with a more-than-adequate serving of ice cream inside. The Boss blows him a kiss as he sits down next to her. Their conversation drifts from subject to subject as they watch television, and before long the eleven o'clock news is on. After catching the forecast for tomorrow's weather, Michael gets up from the couch and switches off the TV.

Tired and eager for sleep, The Boss puts her empty mug in the sink, visits the bathroom one last time, and climbs into bed. After finishing a tall glass of water, Michael shuts off the kitchen light and heads towards the bedroom. He stops a few steps shy of the door, and turns to face the living room on last time. The darkened room seems strangely foreign, with odd shadows cast from the moon outside obscuring the shapes of its contents.

"Rest well, flea's and various other pests." he mutters under his breath.

"For tomorrow... You die."

11:07:36 PM.

---

Part Three - The Resolution... Tomorrow

10 Comments:

scatterbrain said...

What flavour was the ice cream?

I've never had a cat, but a friend swears by garlic capsules for her dog.

Lola said...

Get that damn cat on Program ASAP. It's birth control for fleas. That breaks the cycle. Even if she gets one on her, it can't make flea babies.

They are very hard to kill. I think my sister made her house glow with all those flea bombs once, and she finally had to hire a pest control company to come take care of it.

I've got the two dogs and two cats on Program, and I've never had a flea problem. I like it better than the topical things because even if one flea survives the topical stuff and hops off onto the rug, it can't birth no babies. Good luck with the killing!

Badass Geek said...

Scatterbrain: Her's was vienna mocha, and mine was chocolate peanut butter. And the garlic? Might help control our vampire problem, too.

Lola: We're going to try one more round of foggers and sprays, and if that doesn't work, we're going to call for help. I'm reaching my wits end.

Sus said...

Good hell, this sounds aweful. I can't read these posts without scratching all over my legs and arms. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

That's right. I said "heebie-jeebies." I am trying to bring words like that and "hogwash" back in to the popular vernacular.

Daddy Files said...

Since the way you're writing this reminds me of an episode of "24" I think you need to abduct one of the fleas and keep it as a hostage. Then interrogate it a la Jack Bauer:

"We are OUT OF TIME! Tell me RIGHT NOW where this infestation is coming from or I will kill you!!!"

Or you could just get rid of the cat. Believe me, I feel your pain. I have two of the nasty little critters and I hate them. But they were with my wife before I was so they stay...until they die!

Employee No. 3699 said...

Somehow I missed yesterday's post, silly me. I had to go and read that one first.

Well, I'll write my comment in just a moment, as soon as I stop scratching...

...back. Well, I hope you can get the situation under control stat!

Badass Geek said...

Sus: I prefer to call it the "jibblies", and I love the word "hogwash". I also enjoy the words "poppycock" and "balderdash".

Daddy Files: I tried abducting one of the fleas like you suggested, and the bastard bit me! Can you believe the nerve of that guy?

Employee No. 3699: It's getting there... Slowly but surely.

scatterbrain said...

The comments and replies you get on your site are almost as good as the original posts.

Keeps others wondering why I'm tittering and chortling over here at the computer.

Aub said...

When bad bugs birth good writing, I'm firmly on the side of the critters. Just ask Lil' Sass. Sorry, man.

Badass Geek said...

Scatterbrain: You could always tell them its the jokes the voices inside your head are telling you.

Aub: Me, too... Me, too.

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