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A Bug in My Bed
Thump. Thump. My feet were sinking into the deep, icy slush. It was as cold as the grave in the nordic country of Norway. I could feel my soul sinking deeper and deeper into the dirty, virgin snow as I trotted with heavy steps. I could not stop. I was panting. I knew it was going to get me. Roarrrrr. A vision of my grave flashed into my mind; "Pahoillani Järvinen: died on the 22nd of December, 2020." The monster was catching up. I heard its claws ripping into the perfectly peaceful snow as it dashed in my direction. What have I done for God to release his hound up on me? I tripped. The monster was closing in on me. And then, out of the blue, I started to remember: The old man's barn.
I was walking, all-night talking with him;
About life, trees, the melancholy breeze;
Singing the cold, dark night away with him;
Nightingale's telling, he wants to appease.
He told me tales, of the blue nordic whales;
Swimming and chatting, being like, happy;
He talked to me about his life, packed with fails;
Muttering to me, karma is nasty.
But then he tells me, I am not your friend;
I am a mild man, mourning the night;
You should go your own way, I recommend;
Leave me behind in the gloomy, dark night.
Strangled by firm rage, I left my estrange;
Threw rocks at his house, in war, I engage.
I knew what I did, and I regretted it. I should have never lost my temper and attacked the old man. Roarrrrr. I listened, with crippling fear, as my punishment closed in on me. The metallic claws screeching against the rocks, intensifying as they approached me. Each of the monster's heavy pants reminded me of my mistake. First thump, second thump, third thump. Yet my body forced me into a prison of shame, I could not move; I was frozen. The monster jumped on me, yet I felt no pain. Its wicked steel-gray claws ripped into my body. Blood was pouring out into a mournful scarlet river. My flesh was tossed around, like a ragged doll, leaving my broken bones on display. The fire within me faded, as I was slowly accepting my inevitable fate. I started to cry hopelessly. Not because of death, but rather because of the lack of having the ability to reverse my actions. I knew that the essence of my life was getting sucked away by the monster. It held me captive as if I was a dangerous criminal. The monster's sweat was scorching hot as it dripped into my mouth. My tastebuds erupted from the saltiness they sensed. I felt its jagged teeth squeezing my neck as it tried to kill me. Its foul breath smelled of galling garlic, bitter blood, and moldy meat; I was not the only prey of the old man, I am not the only one who will die because of his mistakes.
Heeeee-hooooo. I woke up panting. Sweat was dripping down my innocent body, my nightmare slowly washing away. My body reached a calm sense of relaxation as my head sunk deeper into the pillow. But still, deep in my mind, the nightmare resided. I knew karma would haunt me for my whole life. I was yet to be safe and sound. As I observed the suffocating darkness around me, I realized that I made a mistake at the old man's house yesterday, and my punishment, my dream, made me want to apologize to him. But, I knew that I could never reverse my actions. Should I run and accept my faith, or should I try to reverse it? What a dilemma. I tried to go back to sleep, but there was a peculiar, stinging sensation on my back, something I did not enjoy. I turned and found a bug in my bed. I squeezed it until its guts came pouring onto my clean, white sheets. There was a tint of blood from the bug on my hand. I perished the bug in my bed. And then, suddenly, like a ripple in the everlasting ocean, the monster roared again, disrupting the calm, sleepless night.
Wesley Chapel, Florida
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