Confessions of a killer who serves
We may be more alike than you think …
I have no feelings. I just want to inflict death upon my enemies. I am at peace during the daytime, but not when the artificial lights set in. When I get the first hint of their arrival, I go berserk …
After sealing vulnerable entry points, I wait at strategic bases where they will infiltrate. They keep coming without realizing the superiors are no more wanderers; they now have boundaries. And when the intention of invasion is not to fly, but to impair physiological functioning, this tiny-piece-of-flight awaits death.
I do know for a fact that not all of you are harmful. But, I neither have the patience to check your make nor sophistication to know your intentions. For me, you are all the same—a born swimmer, a grown-up flier, a silent killer.
I don’t mind your buzz or pain, but your unconscious pact with uninvited guests is unacceptable. I admire your airlifting capability, but you can never land safely to disturb the serenity of my bloodstream.
My visual radar, my precise navigation, is what I rely on before crushing you to death. Sometimes, my foot is firm on the ground, and my weapon does the talking without versatility. Though out of reach at times, I am ready to launch myself for a perfect death-smash. Forehand, backhand, overhead smash … you have succumbed to it all.
If you are stuck and still moving in the grid with a will to live, I fry you until it kills all your hopes. If you get past it unconscious, you suffocate to death under my big-foot trample.
And to the ones still on the wall. Listen. My palm can crush your calmness, but I don’t want to splash red on my criss-cross or the wall with the blood cocktail you are high on.
Rather, I prefer tenderly moving my racquet touching distance from your tiny wings, probably a volley in tennis. No blood—I kill you on the fly! In this bloodless battle, I am the soldier in charge who serves to kill. An ace with every serve, I electrocute my enemy to protect my family.
The mosquito massacres continue to unfold in my house after every sunset. Free from all repercussions, my electrical racquet is on a killing spree. With every kill, I hum, “No matter how high you fly, you are destined to die.”
