A man just dived in the crispy-tidied single bed spread-eagled as he entered in his budget hostel from the late night self-made-tour round the high street of Cambridge. Examining around the nook of the his new abode for the rest 48 hours; trying to retain in his memory and recollected especially the time he has been in a hotel,
with Natalie Portman in his unsolicited fantasy. A smile etched in his face as he spotted a metallic desk. Melted onto the pristine bed, he was pleased of the expected bouncing of the bed and took off his shoes by the other foot. Closed his eyes, a little prayer of “sigh” and hurried to unpack
ing his luggage. He snugly placed his playwriting books and the Bible in the right corner of the desk. He quickly flipped through them before he realized he’s facing a huge mirror. He stole a look, stood up and twisted his head and leaned to have a good view of his thinning spot of his head. Stripped off and made an “Zwarzzenegger-pose” before he put on his shorts and shirt with biblical inscriptions. He felt disgusted as he barely footed walked to the toilet, a sort of feeling that someone must have just spilled a diet coke on the floor. As he got in the toilet and hummed to do the number 2, He was impressed of the immaculate condition until a seemed-like a leaf fragment clung to the towel hanged on the shower rail. It’s a giant bogus?, no, it’s a stain? no, it’s a WASP! Somehow a sluggish flow Adrenaline prompted him to look around for an armour fend off his impending defeat for an unsolicited declaration of war. The wasp must have been clever or have multiple optic
al functions (as remembered his Biology class) as it flew to nowhere (literally) in a blink of his eyes. He still on his number 2 obligation but interrupted by the thought of cowardice, that he took the towel as his ultimate weapon to spare him from eternal doom of shame. He wringed the towel with a Ramboo look on his face minus the red forehead strap. He gathered himself, took a deep breath, wait…look…stop and look to the other side sharply…CLEAR! (then swore to his discouragement). In a 007 movement, hewas surprised to find himself in the shower cubicle and with his eyes sweeping from sides to sides but keeping himself stationary like a greek statue. (counting loudly in his head)…5…6..6 3/4…bzzz! he jumped off from his limited premises and he whipped the towel guided merely from his pure instincts…bzzz, bzzz, he seemed like whipping the towel in the air, buzzing sound there and here ignited his annoyance and blatant stupidity he wrung the towel again with much strength this time, as if by the speed of thunderbolt he whipped God knows where it led but realized he felt the wooden handle of the string control toilet switch that hardly hit his carefully nursed thinning spot onhis head. “bzzz”, this time it was him made the sound as he further challenged the tiny-pesky creature. “Shhh” he forcefully said to himself. Panting supressing his urge from pain and tears. Unsteady eyes but managed to shiver to almost non existent. Eight, …9…15… “C’mon show up, u filthy pesky snut”…17…21…Bingo!!! right behind the the flush handle. Whipped! a distrught discouragement surmounting upon the realization that he whipped only the scrap of an old petal. “ Don’t give up” ( Oh yeah, as what my high school PE teacher always said). Silence. Almost convinced of the thought of that white flag as it will leave as he let the window left wide-open But he sensed something crawling under the radiator. Silence. Careful…careful…shhh, whipped, it escaped he thought…damn! He looked up as he left. It must have been gone and exited the window. Yes,…that should end the war. It flew out the window. You spoilt my bowel calling, i forgave you and now i carry on of why I’m here, as about to throw the towel back in the toilet rail, a familiar giant black bogus spotted on the floor, crawling. Oh dear…clearly unable to fly. Now your buying pity from me…none left cause i have already eaten it when I felt the lump on my sacred head. A quick funeral prayer he said in his mind as he closed his eyes with the toilet brush pressing to the wasp. As if devoured by the spider caved-in by the toilet brush bristles. There…, a poor wasp lifelessly fossilized. To prevent the gory and tragic endingof the wasp’s plight. He buried the brush to the creature by dipping the brush to the toilet and flushed away. The mourning sound of the flushing toilet faded. He came out the toilet feeling accomplished, so he say. As he approached the desk and open his manuscript book. He then realized that the story of the wasp hasnt ended there, in the deep end of the toilet…it has just began. Now he sat in the chair with that pile of books…the wasp haunted him.
