It began, as it almost always does, innocently enough.
I’d moved to a house with a space to garden and a bed of bedraggled rose bushes which I was exuberant to nurture to their potential splendor.
I purchased a long, green hose with attachable nozzle, which came with a plethora of speeds and pressures, for ease of watering my grass and plants and rose bushes, nothing more.
Little did I know this innocuous apparatus would serve as a weapon that I would use to defend my space and my life in a battle with a most gruesome end.
The first time I saw her, I nearly fell over in fright, giving a small scream and dropping my garden shears.
I’d know her anywhere. I’d seen her face before. I’d seen her in my nightmares.
She stared at me malevolently and her fat, black body sat completely still as if in defiance of her trespass.
But this was my home and her kind was not welcome here. I grabbed the hose, switched the nozzle to “jet” and sprayed her right in her evil little face. She immediately scuttled away and hid.
It had done its job. For the time being.
She appeared again several more times over the next couple of weeks, always creeping up on me while I was gardening all alone, unsuspecting. She’d get too close for comfort and I’d hit her with a blast of water until she lost her creepy little grip and fell down in the dirt. I was never quite sure if I’d killed her or not. But I suppose not, since she kept coming back. Like a damn zombie.
Then came the fateful day. I got home from work and changed into jeans and walked out into my garden. I peeked into a hanging plant, looking for my newest friend, a baby Praying Mantis (I think he was a baby), a tiny bright green little guy that would greet me every day and make me smile. I named him Ernie.
But what did I find? A tiny green Praying Mantis corpse.
I knew instantly it was her. She had murdered Ernie. In cold blood.
That bitch. She was going to pay.
I got a broom and with the long, wooden handle, bashed at the bushes until she came out, all pissy, fangs dripping with venom, her red belly taunting me.
I was scared, I admit. But this time it was personal.
I sprayed her dead on with the fullest blast of water my spigot would allow, but that bitch held on with all eight legs and the will power of a demon.
I gave up on the hose. It was simply not powerful enough for her. I grabbed the broom handle and took aim. The timing had to be perfect and I couldn’t miss. I had just one shot.
I took it. I smashed the wood handle into that Black Widow spider. She wasn’t going to die easily, but I wasn’t going to let her crawl up the handle and seek her revenge upon me. I squished and squished and then I sprayed again, making sure she was truly and completely dead.
At last, it was finished. I was soaking wet and exhausted.
But I’d won.
I wiped my brow, tossed the hose onto the grass, placed the broom back in the house, and released a long sigh of relief.
This was a post for the RemembeRED prompt: This week, we're giving you a photo to take you back in time. In 700 or fewer words, show us where your memory takes you.
2 years ago