Bedbug

First word i heard from my roommate was ‘bedbug’. yes, a person after being drained by his fucking asshole clients, comes home and finds out a bedbug roaming around his apartment, without even paying rent. ‘you just think that it is ‘a’ bedbug, there might be hundreds of those fuckers and we might not even know.’ he shouted. ‘yeah, yeah, got it’ was my response to an already harassed by the tiny creature, guy. he was relieved that i share his pain.

‘Now what?’ after a while, when i sought no calm on his face, i shot this obvious question, with no intention of getting a reply. ‘we have to find those bastards, else they will be all over us’ i am dead, i thought. and next moment he was all in the field, searching each and every corner, moving each and every bit, hitting everything which was hitable, i don’t know if such word even exists.

I let myself put for a while, but for how long you can park when others are already on race track. i jumped and was leading from the front, doing more or less same thing what he was doing but with more noise, distraction you see. here goes the table, there goes the bed, here goes shoe rack, there goes chair. in all just two of us and world war.

After battle of Normandy, finally we were both shot in head by the tiredness and the failure, i mean what the fuck, not a single piece of shit was found which would at least look like a bedbug. i just threw myself on the sofa which now has moved to the other corner like continental drift, eyes closed so that i would never know that we have already drifted and when i opened my eyes, i realized what world learns only after a war is over. ‘war is bad’ be it with an other country or with a bedbug in your own house.

‘war is bad’ he said, seeking sympathy and more of a support and help to clean up the mess which we have caused to this perfect place. ‘okay, not so perfect’. we both smiled and stood up, after all a new war was ahead.