I killed a man last night.

 

It was a warm night. Uncomfortably warm, with no breeze and no relief from the stiflingly humid air. We opened the door to our room and immediately peeled our clothes from our slick skin. I started to crawl underneath the bug-net, when she saw him. A dropped brush, a sharp intake of breath, before she spoke in a low voice, “Caleigh, don’t move.” I heard something, a soft movement against the sheets. I turned my head.

 

And there he was.

 

The intruder.

 

I knew I stood no chance against him; though he was partly obscured, I could still make out his sheer size. With so many legs, I knew he could outrun me. There was no way. Before I could untangle myself from the net, he scuttled under our bed, snapping his pincers together and making a horrible, growling, hissing noise. We stood there, half-naked in our room and terrified. There was no way we could sleep, knowing that he was lurking under our bed. We could feel his beady eyes watching us. He was waiting for us to let our guard down.

 

We decided we had to kill him, before he got to us.

 

We moved quickly, untucking the bug-net and stripping the bed of its white sheets to begin our hunt. Flashlight in hand, Tina flipped the mattress, hoping to uncover the hissing intruder. But he evaded us, hiding between the boards and snapping his pincers, taunting us. We pulled the frame from the wall, and waited. But he was patient, and didn’t move a single one of his six legs. I rummaged through our bags until I found the weapon. With expert precision, I sprayed the Army Grade Insect Repellent through the cracks of the boards, hoping to severely, but temporarily, injure his eyes, as the packaging warned. He grew dizzy, the 30% DEET paralyzing his nervous system and frying his tiny little brain. He weaved out of his hiding place in the crack, and I was ready.

 

He never stood a chance against us, or my Complete Lord of the Rings Trilogy. After I slammed my 1,130 page book on top of his helpless body, I pounded it with my fist, splattering his guts in all directions. We scraped his dried up, mangled corpse off the ground in the morning.

 

La Cucaracha finally met his match.