October
14
Make us Laugh!!!
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Respond in a paragraph with your funny “true experience” to one of the following prompts:
- Your worst DIY disaster: Explain and describe a project (i.e. pinterest) gone wrong.
- Describe your worst school or family photo.
- Most embarrassing moment.
- Most awful/fearful moment – told funny.
- A wardrobe malfunction.
- A story when you lost your temper – told funny.
- A date.
- Technology mishap.
- A pet.
- A time you were blamed/in trouble.
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My friends, brother and I were at the ocean one day. We were out camping together, and while out parents chose to stay on the beach, we bravely ventured into to water, diving headfirst.
Less than two minutes later, we were sitting on towels, arguing about who squealed the loudest when we realized just how cold it was. Some time later, we went back in, a lot more cautiously this time. My mom was taking pictures of us, asking us to strike funny poses in the water. Logically, the funniest pose my brother could think of is sitting on me. He lunged at me, pushing me underwater as he tried to affix his bottom to my back. I was struggling to get his (To my ten year old self) fourteen year old body off of mine. Eventually, he got off. I was out of air by then, struggling to reach the surface. Finally, after seven seconds underwater, I made it up and screamed at him “I almost dwowned in there!” (My R’s become W’s when i am under stress).
We pulled up these photos some time later, those same friends with us, and one of them pointed to someone in the background, laughing and saying mockingly “Who’s that fat guy?”
He was pointing at his old self.
He’ll never live that down.
2) photo one,
Up until grade seven I had had many photos, But there can only be one, truly “great” photo. The one photo, to rule them all. In the seventh grade i walked in to the gym, a twinkle in my eye, and hope in my heart. Little did I know i would be blind to horrors about to be forever captured on camera. Little to my knowledge, I had closed my eyes, making my already stupid expression look like a stoned chef who just cut off his fingers. So forth, i can never have a worse picture, unless I, you know, appear in one.
I am a cat. Where do I belong? Where does my heart long to go? Obviously not stuck in someone’s stingy basement with papers all over the place and food crumbs all over the floor. I mean, you’ve got to be joking if anyone would go there willingly. I personally would never willingly go down there; unless… you give me a Klondike Bar. Hehe.
Whenever I see an opportunity, I take it. The gigantic two legged humans walk towards the door to put on pieces of plastic and cloth onto their paws to protect them. What are they protecting their paws from? Stepping in shit? Come on; seriously? How can you expect to go anywhere or even take a step with tender soles like those? They don’t listen to my advice. I’ll just watch them whine like a rugged dog with its tail between their legs when they step on a little innocent rock. I’d laugh my head off. Speaking of which, this is my chance. I bolt out the door with the force of a thousand arrows and squeeze my fat ass through the door crack. I hear the humans calling out to me and I’m already halfway to the gate of heaven. I turn my head around to stick my tongue out at those gawking humans calling out my name like a stupid cloud of seagulls by the port. I turn my head back to my route and I meet face to face with the cold, iron tread of the fence. It high-fives me in the face and the flesh of my face seem to engulf the wire from the impact. Such a fat ass. I hear the humans hysterical with laughter like mocking hyenas and I wiggle my way out through the crack in the fence. Almost getting my butt stuck. So much for the gate to heaven.
She stood there in line, shaking and threatening to pee her pants if she was made to go on this ride. Now most people would leave the line and wait for their friend on the receiving end of the ride, after they throw up in terror. However, this time was different, this time she was dared. If someone dares you to do something, at least in her opinion, you could not yell “uncle” regardless of the circumstances. This time she had no choice but to wait in line for the ride of terror to begin; all the while threatening to throw up all over her friend who put her in this position anyways. When they were seated and buckled in for safety not only was the fear in her eyes elevated but the cursing increased as well. As the ride began, her choice of wording was no longer appropriate for little ears to hear, and trust me, the whole park could hear.
I was running late and I knew it, but as I watched my friends doubled over and turning red from the laughter, I foolishly decided that I didn’t care about punctuality.
I stood within a gaggle of people, all of standing in front of our lockers, as we joked around, watched everyone around us file out of the school.
I’m not entirely sure why we thought it was fun, or even remotely enjoyable to loiter around in the halls of the school, but that’s all besides the point now. The point is, I faced the consequences of my decision- I had to face my mother’s wrath.
One second, I was talking enthusiastic, blind to my impendending doom, and the next I heard Matthew’s surprised voice ask me, ” Grace… isn’t that your mom?”
What!?
I twirled around and sucked in my breath. There she was, her hair, a wild mess, and her steps were heavy as she stomped towards me. Her face was bright red, reminding me of a cartoon villain sauntering forward, earnest to crush the hero.
Oh.my.gosh. A few more colourful words flashed in mind as she grew nearer, and it did NOT help that my friends were fighting to conceal their laughter.
” Grace Geddes!”
Oh man, she used the full name-well almost my full name, she had forgotten t o used my middle name, I’m convinced she’s forgotten it- but full names meant trouble, just ask any teenager.
“How DARE you keep me waiting- AGAIN!”
I stutter, ” well uh we’re getting some last minute stuff done”
She raises her eye brow,not believing a word, meanwhile I could feel my face turning a bright flaming red, as the students around me snickered. One girl walking by shot me a pitying glance. Things could not be any worse or more mortifying at this point, that is until one guy, someone I myself barely knew, decided to introduce himself.
Mom was thoroughly impressed with his manners, so impressed she let a smile play at the corner of her lips, which was honestly a miracle at this point.
” Grace,” She announced, her eyes bright with an evil glint, ” You need to MARRY this boy!”
She did NOT just say that, but judging by the way some of my friends were on the floor laughing at my intense humiliation,she certainly had, and she said it loud.
To make a long story short, I just about died of mortification and my friends have yet to let me live it down.
I walked into the doctor’s office. Palms sweaty and stomach churning. The entire morning I’d been dramatically saying, “This is it. This is the end.” My mom kept telling me to just suck it up and to stop talking nonsense. I refused to let her just tell me to suck it up, and to annoy her even more, I made sure I kept whining. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed the nurse saying,
“Is there a Day-nee-aa here?”
I got up, replying with, “It’s actually Daania.” Adding a bit extra sass because I was already so terrified and cannot stand being in the doctor’s office. She led me into a room, took my blood pressure, which was on the higher side. I blame it on school, but my mom blames it on my overuse of technology. The doctor finally came in after what felt like hours of waiting.
He entered and introduced himself, “Hi I’m name is Adrian, so I’ve looked at your file and with these procedures we usually cut up to the knee.”
I was sitting there in shock, staring at him with my mouth open and I somehow had the will to sputter out, “Excuse me?! Did you just say to my KNEE??”
He started laughing at me, however, his fun didn’t seem to end there. As I was leaving the room he said to me, “You know at Home Depot they have saws for sale, so you can even do your own amputation.”
This time the color drained from my face, and I gave him the most unimpressed look I have ever give a doctor, and I walked out.
I was at a friends house once and my parents could not pick me up so her dad had to drop me off at my house. It was an awkward ride anyway, their car was squishy and I felt like I was in a crowded elevator or something that moved forward instead of up and down. I had a bag with me with some of the stuff I had taken to her place and was holding it tightly. When we finally pulled onto my driveway I was so relieved. That is until I saw the MASSIVE dog in my yard. Now, I’m not scared of dogs, and in fact I prefer big ones over smaller ones. But this one was huge and mean looking. It was slobbering everywhere and it wasn’t the cutest dog either. My friends dad was waiting for me to get out of his car and I wouldn’t budge. Did he want me to die!? Could he not see the monster in front of my house!? I knew though, that I had to get out eventually and when the dog was facing the other way I ran out of the car and to my front door. I rang the doorbell multiple times as if that would make my sister open the door faster. I turned around, by now I was sweating nervously because the dog was coming towards me! I held out the bag in front me as if it would stop the dog and started yelling at it. The dog just stopped and stared at me, probably because I looked psychotic. As soon as the door opened I ran inside, panting. I looked out from the window to see the dog had gone back to wandering around my yard and realized how stupid and crazy I must have looked. I overreacted for no reason. The poor dog just wanted to play. This was probably one of my most embarrassing yet fearful moments ever!
As a younger kid, I was pretty fricking stupid. Not going to law. Half the crap Donald Trump says doesn’t compare to my sh*t. It wasn’t that I made bad choices, it more like I was just an oblivious idiot. The amount of times I’ve had to hear from my mom about the dumb crap that I did makes me die a little on the inside. “When you were a kid….” Shut up please! “I remember when you…” STOP. Don’t remind me. But I guess Hunnisett wants us to relive these horrific moments, so thanks Hunni. To start, there was the story of how I wore my pants on backwards for the entire Kindergarten year. I’d walk into class with the spot where my butt should be up front, and sit down on the fly of my pants. Keep in mind that I wasn’t told about this until two months ago. My mom? Nope. The teacher? Try again. Next are the reoccurring adventures of me and my bare ass streaking through the neighbor’s yard. I probably blinded some people with the lovely sheen coming off my snowy bottom. I tell you, after my parents found out and an intervention from a hand to my butt took place, it no longer was white. This wasn’t a one time thing, as my mother put it. So on multiple occasions, I willingly ran around buck-ass naked? Great.
The icy wind blow over the top of the hill, cutting into my cheeks, and numbing the tip of my nose further. I drew patterns in the snow with my ski poles, as I waited for the rest of my group to reach the top. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t up there first because I was really eager to get started, or I was just really fast. I was up there first because 1) I figured if I got up there first, I wouldn’t be the first to go down and I could hide at the back of the group and maybe, possibly, somehow manage to sneak out of skiing down this seemingly gigantic hill.(I don’t know what logic I used with this… I just.. I don’t know) 2) The instructor asked me to go first and quite in front of everybody else, so that if I fell, I would have alot of room to get up. I’m not exactly… graceful? Or just talented physically it seems.
So I’m standing there as the instructor explains how to do all the pizza feet stuff, and how to hold your poles. But let’s be real for a second. I can’t do any type of physical activity. No matter how many tips you give me, how many times we go through it, I won’t be able to do it. I’m sorry.
By now, everyone has gone, even the instructor so I take a deep breath, and push off. Ok, I think. This is not bad. This is good. I can do this. I can feel myself shifting on the hill, and I try to get back on the right path. But with me and my physical abilities, my luck and just me in general, it doesn’t happen. And the next thing I know, I’ve launched off this stupid snow bump, and I’m flying for a second (maybe even gloriously) before I come crashing to the ground, mangled and heart broken. But not before, I hit this tree. This huge, strong pine tree. It shakes when I hit the trunk, and the branches quiver, allowing more snow to sprinkle my face. I didn’t know what to say. I was already crying, so there wasn’t much else I could do either.
I do not like invertebrates. Let me make that perfectly clear. It isn’t normal for a living creature to not have a spine. It just isn’t. How can something move without a spine?
Well, let me tell you: that crab sure knew how to move. Fast.
I was maybe four or five when it happened. I had taken a trip with my mom and my grandmother to a Chinese supermarket. And do you know what they sell at Chinese supermarkets?
Crabs.
So there was this counter with these tanks. And guess what were in the tanks? Crabs. Bloody, spineless crabs. And so basically you go up and tell the person behind the counter, “I want a bloody crab please.” And you know what the person behind the counter does?
They give you a bloody crab.
And so this man decides he wants a crab. And he puts it in his shopping basket, which is, you know, fine. I mean, that’s what a shopping basket is for right? To put things in. But you know what you’re not supposed to with a shopping basket?
Put it on the floor when there is a live bloody crab inside of it.
To be fair, yes its claws were elastic-banded shut. But boy that crab could move. Fast. How can you move without a spine? That just isn’t okay. And there I was. Tiny, innocent me. Petrified of the spineless demon that began crawling towards me menacingly. And, let me tell you, that thing did not look like Sebastian. It was a horrid brown color. It looked more like a grotesque sea-spider. With claws. And so I screamed blue murder. So loud, in fact that my mother, who was a few aisles over, heard me. (I was with my grandmother at the time.)
I have hated invertebrates ever since. Bloody things.
A traumatic moment for me but a funny moment for everyone else would be when I was little and my encounter with dogs. It was just an ordinary day in Orlando, as my family was on vacation. We were visiting my mom’s old teacher and I was very excited to see them for the first time. As we rang the doorbell, I started hearing a dog’s bark. My heart started racing. I started to panic. I didn’t know they had a dog or how big it was. I was horrified of dogs and had a fear of them biting me, especially the large bull dogs. As they opened the door, I found the little dog in its owner’s hands. The dog was just a small little puppy was named Fluffy. I started to calm down a bit and tried to stay away from Fluffy as far as possible. I would sit on the couch and sit crossed legged so the dog wouldn’t touch my toes. But it was impossible to stay away from her. Every time I moved she would come closer to me and then it happened. She jumped on the couch and crawled on me. I shrieked as I felt her fur rub on my arms. Everyone started laughing at me as it was only a cute little dog. My fear of dogs can really bring joy to other people’s lives.
-Andrew 🙂
A date:
Before you go thinking it’s a date with a guy, it’s not. It was a group date with a bunch of my idiot friends out of school, deciding to do stupid things out of boredom. All six of us were amazingly bored at my house with nothing to do, but Carter came up with the amazing idea to try climbing our old local elementary. Why and where he came up with this idea, I have no idea but there was nothing better to do apparently. So all of us stood on the east side of the school where we were more unlikely to be caught, not like we would get in trouble, everyone loved us. Carter and Dakota were the first to attempt to climb up. Because of their incredible manliness, according to Carter, they made it with little to no difficulty. Jess and I ended going up next. We were both climbing up, and since I loved climbing as a child, I didn’t have much difficulty. But Jess did and she slipped and fell, but not before grabbing my innocent self and pulling me down along with her. Since I was obviously bigger than her stick frame, I fell faster and landed roughly on the cement. I glared at my two useless friends who failed to try and help. But I was cut off by Jess falling on top of me. My head banged against the ground and I grabbed it with both hands, groaning. “I’m fine!” Jess called out after she stood up and brushed her clothes. My temper got the best of me and I kicked her in the back of the knees and she fell back into Mason and they both hit the ground in an awkward sensual position. Nabeeha, Carter and Dakota laughed loudly like the hyenas they were while Jess and I moaned over our near-death experience. In the end, I had gotten away from getting a concussion but the bruises coating my back and forehead left me dying in bed for the next couple of days. Moral of the story: Always be the thinner girl.
I walked into the doctor’s office. Palms sweaty and stomach churning. The entire morning I’d been dramatically saying, “This is it. This is the end.” My mom kept telling me to just suck it up and to stop talking nonsense. I refused to let her just tell me to suck it up, and to annoy her even more, I made sure I kept whining. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed the nurse saying,
“Is there a Day-nee-aa here?”
I got up, replying with a bit of extra sass, “It’s actually Daania.” She led me into a room, took my blood pressure, which was on the higher side. I blame it on school, but my mom blames it on my overuse of technology. The doctor finally came in after what felt like hours of waiting.
He entered and introduced himself, “Hi my name is Adrian, so I’ve looked at your file and with these procedures we usually cut up to the knee.”
I was sitting there in shock, staring at him with my mouth open and I somehow had the will to sputter out, “Excuse me?! Did you just say till my KNEE??”
He started laughing at me, however, his fun didn’t seem to end there. As I was leaving the room he said to me, “You know at Home Depot they have saws for sale, so you can even do your own amputation.”
This time the color drained from my face, and I gave him the most unimpressed look I have ever given a doctor, and I walked out.
TV
I am awkward, as awkward as Simon Cowell feels when an auditioning women wearing a flamboyant shirt and too-tight tights is up in his face screaming the lyrics to her made-up song about her devoted love towards him. Yes, that is me. I am like the lamer, less-cool version of Simon Cowell, except I have youth in my favor, less wrinkles, and a significantly less disgusting choice of words. That guy is really obsessed with killing eighteen year old girls’ dreams, in the most cruel manner possible-and yes that was meant to be offensive. So this is about the time I was watching X factor. Like let’s be real, half those contestants have voices that would make a dying chicken fall to its death even faster. Then there’s also those judges, like I get it, your like a billionaire and all, but come on, you are nobody if you can’t do your own laundry. Also what do you even spend your money on? THERE’S ONLY SO MANY DIFFERENT TYPES OF FANCY CHEESE YOU CAN BUY. I should totally go audition for X factor, I’ll fit right in. I’ll just come in with my everlasting cold and cough it up on stage. It’ll be a beautiful change for Simon Cowell. I can use my hypersensitivity to bawl my eyes out and make him feel bad when he criticizes me. Then Demi Lovato or something… or whoever the other judges are, can get lured into my irresistible need for pity. Next thing you know , I’ll be going viral no YouTube for being the terrible singer who was dissed and hearbroken by Simon Cowell. Buzzfeed will create articles about me like “X FACTOR FAILURE TWEETS HI ON TWITTER OMG WHAT COULD IT MEAN.” It’ll be my big break. Unless of course, John Green sees my talent shine through and decides to adopt me and make me a famous writer too. I’ll live with a really fat white fluffy Persian cat in New York City, and forget about doing laundry. Yes Simon Cowell’s going to have some competition soon! Now only to figure out how to stop being broke so I can fly to the USA…
010 – A fearful moment turned funny
I got high for the first time when I was 9.
I needed to get my appendix out, and I began to cry about “not wanting to die young,” and how, “I had so much to live for, ” and how “I hadn’t even kissed a boy yet.” I was inconsolable, and my mom became so frustrated she threatened to rip it out herself. I, offended, threatened to run away if they even tried to put me under.
And then they gave me morphine.
I immediately turned from a whiney pre-teen to a calm, mature, hippie-like girl totally off her mind on drugs. I spoke with a drawl, and it took me at least 2 minutes to turn my head in any specific direction. I was completely, 100% ready to get my appendix removed.
“Leeut’s doou iiit, maann. Liiike, Iii wiillll doou itt liikke righht noowww man. Liiikkkeee, leeet’ss juuustt doo itt. Maannn. Wooow. Thhhiisss iiis grreaatt, maann,” was said at least seven times daily while I was in such a state.
The most exciting discovery I remember was when I felt the crinkly paper, that was laid out on examining beds, for the first time. They had to remove the entire supply of it on the floor I was roomed on, relocating it to the hall above because of the annoyance created by a little 9-year-old girl. This girl, who was high on morphine, that was ,more often than not, found on the floor of her room, sleeping, because it took too long to pull herself up on to the bed.
— Claire B.
A Fearful Moment
Child labor laws have come far in the past decades– just not to middle schools. Every year, in October, we would each get a 10 ton box of chocolates and be thrust into the autumn cold to proposition strangers. And, most of the time, it was just as strange as that sentence sounded.
We could complain, but no on ever dared to stand up and say “no”, because when it came to fundraising, chocolates were king and we were their human foot stools. Really, it was simple economics– supply and demand– they demanded we sell sell sell, and we supplied.
One bitter afternoon, I set off on my daily chocolate-run, carrying with me all the bitter dark chocolate that I couldn’t sell from the last bitter day. That day hadn’t been a particularly bad day, and I was proud of myself for that, so I walked with an extra jump in my step, loonies jingling in the paper envelope I carried to collect funds. That day, I saw my life flash before my very eyes, and you know what I saw? I saw chocolate.
The rottweiler looked me straight in the eyes, and kind of nodded, as if saying, “Yeah, that’s right, I’m gonna kill you.”
And I couldn’t look away. I just slowly lowered the 10 ton box to the pavement and started walking backwards, as it stepped forward. I knew in that moment that I was dog food, so I shut my eyes and ran. The clink of a chain, of a leash, was all what tethered me to this realm– it saved my life!
From that day forward I no longer cared about the casual day those who sold the chocolates would receive– although it was a tough decision, I think my life meant more to me.
Every average high school student discover the true meaning of stress on the final week of school when pressure takes over due to the amount of tests piled on. The pressure of this situation hit hard last year when my teacher decided to assign test for each day of the last week. Unfortunately, I caught the flu and when I get sick it’s as if all hell breaks loose. I could not concentrate on the test and I knew I was destined for a dreadful mark. After that period I had drama which was always a place to release my stress in the form of art. I sat down by my friends and the next thing I knew I was sobbing. The entire class was staring me down so uncomfortable with what was happening since they were confused to laugh or comfort me. When I caught my teacher’s attention and she was questioning the reason for all these tears nothing but tears and heavy breathing followed. Hearing these obnoxious noises coming from such a tiny human was excruciating. Looking back I was extremely embarrassed from this mental breakdown because it happened suddenly.
My room is consumed of darkness, the only sources of light that can be seen in my room is the moonlight softly shining through my window and my ipod’s faint screen light. The sound of my shallow breath and strong blades of an electric fan are heard, as I intently scroll down my Facebook. An unknown sound of fluttering wings is heard, my whole body goes tense, I hold my iPod close to my chest and perk my ears. The sound is gone, I assure myself it is only the sound of the fan when suddenly the battering sound is heard again. I point my electronics flashlight towards the white ceiling, a horrendous brown moth was drawn to the light, I let out a loud scream and jump out of bed. I desperately open the door to my dads room and begged him to help me, I did not care if I had rudely awakened him, I wanted that stupid moth out of my room! He looks at me in annoyance and silently swats away at the ceiling, the moth is swept out my door and he grunts as I hurriedly say my thanks and shut the door to my room as fast as lightning. I did not want that MONSTER in my room. Throughout the whole night I was not able to sleep until 4 in the morning and due to my paranoia, I had wrapped myself with blankets like a mummy wrapped in bandages, preferring to sweat to death in 25 degree weather than to be stuck in a room with that thing.
(Another) Most Embarrassing Moment
In elementary, on a chilly 31st of October, the town was colored autumn and Halloween was in the air. I had mistaken an ordinary day of school for a special day in regards of Halloween, so I woke up extra early to dress up for this “special day”. I threw my uniform into the pile of dirty laundry and proudly put on my cat costume. I only realized that it was a day like any other ordinary school day-if anything, more ordinary than most days-as I made my way up the stairs and onto the bus where I faced this devastating revelation. I rushed to take cover in my seat-thankfully being situated near the front of the bus-and huddled shamefully in the inside corner by the window. The rest of the day was clear to me. Embarrassment, embarrassment, and what’s that? MORE EMBARRASSMENT! It may not appeal to you as that much of an embarrassment, but if you’d seen my cat costume, you would NOT differ; a shapeless, black velvet dress-like a paper bag with long sleeves. A bushy bundle of bright orange fur lining the collar and the bottom of the skirt, and both ends of the sleeves. And how could I fail to mention, the fuzziest part of all?! A lengthy, orange bush-of-a-tail seemingly hanging out of my butt!
I may have been clothed in a horrendous, furry cat costume, but I felt utterly naked stripped of my dignity that day.
-Sandi
Prompt 4: Most awful/fearful moment – told funny.
There was some kind of flying, creepy bug in my bedroom at 2:00am.
I woke up suddenly from my snooze, my heart racing faster than a redneck running from a swarm of angry wasps. Papery wings fluttered across my dozing face, and I realized after a moment of panic that some live creature- other than myself- was in my room.
Now, I’m not afraid of bugs. I’m not one of those ridiculous girls with a manicure who stands on top of a picnic bench on her tiptoes when she goes camping because there are ants on the ground. But moths… there’s something about them, about how they fly erratically, about how their movements are unpredictable. I do not like moths, and moths, apparently, do not like me.
After calming my frantic heart, I remembered that I had seen a moth fluttering around the second floor hallway earlier today, and realized… there must be a moth in my bedroom! I flicked on my light. As soon as I could see, I fervently raked the room with my eyes, as if I were a lonely lady in desperate search of any man who would have me. Even though I looked thoroughly, the moth was nowhere to be seen- but there was no way I could go back to sleep until I found and killed the little bugger. For a whole hour, I searched the room with only my eyes for the moth, too terrified to move or change my position on the bed.
Somehow, as I was sitting there, my skin became hypersensitive with my fear of the moth coming near me and touching me with those thin, fluttery wings. Every stand of hair brushing against my face was a moth- so, naturally, I screamed shrilly and slapped the spot where I had been touched by my hair. Every brush of the bedsheet against my ankle was a moth- so, naturally, I screamed shrilly and slapped the spot where I had been touched by the bedsheet.
Unsurprisingly, my skin was soon sore, reddened, and slightly raised all over, as if I had suddenly become allergic to hands hitting my body. But what was surprising was that with all the ear-splitting screams- higher pitched than even my uncle’s shriek was when he found a dead spider in the hood of his sweater- attracted no reactions from my family, who were all sound asleep down the hall- or just plainly ignoring my shrieks.
Sitting there, rocking slowly back and forth with wild eyes, crazed hair, and occasionally slapping myself for no apparent reason, I must have looked like a rabid animal on drugs.
Eventually, I realized that I needed backup. But my parents would murder me, resurrect me, and then murder me again for the sheer pleasure of it if I woke one of them up at 2:00am to kill a tiny, harmless little moth. And I just couldn’t bring myself to disturb my sleeping little brother… what a sweet big sister I am for not waking him up. Also, there was the small consideration on my part that if I woke up my brother at 2:00am so he could kill a tiny, harmless little moth for me, he would probably murder me, resurrect me, and then murder me again for the sheer pleasure of it.
So, slowly and with muscles half paralyzed with fear the moth swooping down at me as I moved, I crept to my door. I pried it open, darted through the doorway, scooped up my two cats who were sleeping in the hallway, and tossed them unceremoniously into my bedroom. A half-annoyed, half-surprised meow of protest sounded from within my room.
In my half-sane, fear-crazed, moth-hating mind, the plan made perfect, logical sense- dump the cats in my room, and return a few minutes later to find a dead moth at their paws. However, as I sat in the darkness of the hallway, my thoughts calmed down… and I found a few teeny flaws in my plan. One, the cats had no idea what they were looking for. Two, if they found the moth, they probably wouldn’t care enough to go after it. Three, if the cats did go after it, they would probably kill it in some catlike way where I would have moth guts squished onto some surface of my room. And four, the cats were tired and annoyed- they would probably just curl up on my bed and take a fourteen-hour catnap.
Realizing that I would have to go back into my bedroom- the terrifying bedroom harboring a moth, for God’s sake- I darted through the doorway, eyes closed, and jumped onto my bed.
When I opened my eyes, a disturbing sight that I very much wanted to ignore greeted me- much like how it was when my sunburned dad, horrifyingly wearing nothing but a skimpy bathing suit, slathered himself in sunscreen at the beach.
The cats sat beside each other in identical positions, tails wrapped around their fluffy paws and necks arched as they stared at a fixed point. Their eyes- wide and dark- were unmoving, and their tails twitched slowly as they made chittering sounds in unison. It creeped me out to no end, but those noises they were making meant something…
The cats only ever made those sounds when they were stalking prey in primal sophistications, their most basic instincts guiding the light tread of their paws as they hunted- or when they staring at bugs that had gotten into the house, cause that was really the only kind of hunting they got to do.
I followed their gaze to a panel of wood behind my door. As I twisted my back and neck like a demented contortionist in an effort to see what the cats saw, I realized where the moth was.
The moth was behind my door, between the hinges, in a spot that was impossible to reach. Good Lord, that’s when I knew the moth had it in for me. I thought about closing the door, but the moth was in a position where closing the door would do nothing but pass over its papery, disturbingly ugly body.
As if it were reading my thoughts and just trying to spite me, the moth suddenly crawled out of my line of sight.
“No, no!” I said out loud. The moth, though still in its oh-so-cleverly unreachable spot, was now in a place where it was completely invisible to me. In my half-sane, fear-crazed, moth-hating imagination, it was depositing moth larvae behind my door and magically growing larger and hairier.
I shuddered, feeling goosebumps tickle every inch of my skin. The goosebumps felt almost, almost like the thin wings of a moth brushing against me- so, naturally, I screamed shrilly and slapped every spot where I thought I had felt something touch me.
I was in for a long, sleepless night of beadily watching the spot where the moth lay in wait. I sat for hours, calculating the next moves of my moth enemy, while the cats kept vigil with me, their tails twitching in sync.