Triumph

I was standing there, my moment of triumph. I was there, handsome, dignified and manly. My adversary was there too, brownish-black and ugly. But he had pulled me down to a level I never knew I could stoop.

He had forced me to kill, to murder, to rid the world of another soul. But, I couldn't help it. Now I stood there on the front foot, ready to kill. He had infested my toilet for days and I had enough. He was just too trying.

I was poised to kill, my right hand armed and raised while my left hand lent balance to my agile body. I had a large arsenal of arms to choose from. It included books, brooms and poison.

I chose the last as it would bring a painful death. This cockroach had irritated me enough in my opinion to deserve that fate.

My body was trembling with excitement. I never knew killing was so joyous. The poison in my hand was a bottle of "Mortein" whose manufacturer claimed that it was the most effective weapon against these ugly beasts.

My mind was geared for battle while I felt my hand press on the nozzle. I heard the sound my ears were craving for. I heard the "pusssssssss" of the compressed poison escaping from the bottle.

I closed my nose, fearing the frightful smell which I was allergic to, but I was ready to bear anything to rid my toilet of that ugly beast. But my glory was short-lived. I realised, much to my dismay, that the bottle, my trusted bottle full of cockroach killing poison was empty.

The cockroach lived another day, unhurt, knowing I would come back stronger one day.