When we last left our unlucky heroes they had been on a triumphant high following the beast having some modicum of decency and exiting itself from the scene. That was short lived however, the foul beast changed his mind and decided to re-enter the story and once again threaten the lives of our protagonists.
Let's get back to it.
My decision to continue to preside over my kingdom of safe haven in the armchair had proven to be wise. The beast was back. I watched with a detached humour as he wriggled from under the baseboard and started to make a circuit around my room, passing with uncanny frequency past my door, then under my bed before disappearing out of sight.
My brave friend took this time to arm herself with a rusty hammer from her room. She also popped into the now cleared minefield of my parent's room and dual-wielded the spray can.
As luck would have it, the spray can was almost empty.
"Tonight is just not our night," she said woefully, "It hardly has in anything,"
My eyes were glued on my doorway as the creature scuttled past once more. When I lifted my eyes and beheld my friend I laughed. Her face held a grim expression as she stood poised and ready to do battle with the beast that lurked within my room.
Girded in a towel with her weapons held aloft, she seemed to be doing her best to channel her warrior ancestors of old. All she was missing I thought was a theme song.
"Well here goes nothing," she stated and I got a sudden flash of inspiration. A battle was about to be fought and all great wars should be documented. I whipped out my cellphone and engaged the voice memo function.
In that moment I transitioned from being a participant in the drama, to the reporter, risking as little life and limb as possible while adding flavour to the scene with my narration.
"Here we have a caricature of humanity," I started, my friend's look of concentration on the task at hand was broken when she turned to stare at me instead, "There comes time when a a battle must be fought and you see the real mettle of a man,"
"You recording that for truth?" she asked me, looking incredulous and a good bit amused.
"Here we have the valiant warrior ready to do battle, and I ask of myself, why are you not also joining her in her fight. And I come to the conclusion that in a war there are the fighters and there are the people in the kitchens."
She continued to give me an ever deepening look of wonder as I rattled on.
"I say to you all, that I am not the one to be in the trenches, I am the one in the kitchen peeling the potatoes."
My friend began to laugh at me but I was unphased. I was quite beginning to get into my roll as a story teller.
"And this is good. For the warriors need to eat to fight the war. I may be a coward, but I'm proud to be the potato peeler,"
"Uh.. okay. All right, it's time to do this," she said, "He's obviously not just going to go away,"
"Rock on!" I cheered, "The warrior is ready to do battle," I narrated.
She shook her head and then sprang into action as the beast rounded the corner. She sprang nimbly into the room and unleashed a blast of spray upon him with the harrowing battle cry.
"Die you little bitch!"
She sprang backwards giving the beast room to writhe in its now enraged frenzy. When it made its way back into view she dashed forward again to administer another blast of poison.
"Shit!" she proclaimed, "I'm out of juice,"
I was too captivated by the intensity of her fight to remember that I was to be narrating. My heart was pounding in my chest.
"I just need one more blast," she muttered, shaking the spray can and then trying her best to squeeze out every last ounce of her ammunition.
"Is it dead..." I queried after this last volley.
"It's dying," she reported, now hovering outside of the room, "I just need something else to finish it off."
She looked at her hammer and then at me and we both looked dubious. Hero though she may be, her using the Hammer of Rusted Destruction had always been a long shot.
"Ah I know,"
She disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with bottle of white vinegar. it was my turn to look at her as if she was mad, or at very least a mad scientist.
"This will do the trick," she said and then I heard the splash of the liquid hitting the floor, where the dying beast lay just out of view.
Minutes ticked by. I started to narrate again.
"The beast is almost at its end," I said in a voice which I hoped conveyed the gravity of the situation, "The warrior is standing now, waiting for it to truly die."
At length, the beast wriggled its last and lay dead. Or so I was told by my friend for I had no intention of moving from my spot. I didn't even want to see its foul carcass.
In time it was disposed of, and eventually I returned to my room. I won't lie dear readers, I stayed in my kingdom long after the vinegar had soaked into floorboards.. just in case the centipede had a irate cousin lurking...
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