Little Monsters
I switched on the light. An earthworm, a centipede and a millipede – stirred by the sudden fading away of the darkness - emerged from the stack of laundry, soiled clothes for that matter, on the floor. The creatures of darkness skittered their way to nowhere. I suppose to nowhere because they were headed to what seemed to be a cul de sac. I suppose that to be trapped in a cul de sac is even worse than having tripped to nowhere.
The earthworm, I learned from high school biology, is an annelid, a segmented worm; however, the earthworm in my dream had loud segments like those of zebra stripes, only that the worm’s was an array of alternate gray and pale pink stripes or segments. The worm, I figure, was four or five inches long, when fully stretched. Diameter would be around 3 or four millimeters at midsection. It crawled swiftly, away from me, like a frightened snake. I, too, was scared of the way the little monster looked at me. I thought it had a pair of laser-red eyes on one end, another pair on the other rear.
The centipede, a little shorter than the earthworm, was reddish brown. Indeed, it had fifty, hairy pairs of jointed legs. I counted that fast, one to fifty on one side, as fast as it had kept pace with the earthworm. I suppose the centipede was blind or had no eyes at all. Being blind is different from having no eyes. Having eyes but refusing to see is a different thing. I suppose the earthworm was leading the centipede so that the letter was always 20 (centipede) steps behind the former. I suppose they had their way to communicate.
"Stop.” This word had never made it to be processed in my vocal chord. It was only on my mind.
Call it telepathy. The earthworm froze like a sine wave in a three-dimensional plot. With half second time delay, I suppose, the centipede halted, too. A few seconds later, as if my command had expired, they continued their trip, or escape, to the slit between the floor and the bathroom door. The door was closed, light from the bathroom leaked from the slit. I could hear sound of water coming out of the faucet. Somebody was in the bathroom.
When the earthworm and the centipede was a foot (or two) shy from the slit, I noticed a chocolate-colored centipede almost the size of the first one, the reddish brown. It was headed opposite the direction of the other two – toward me. This one had round body, had the same number of legs as the first reddish brown centipede, I counted them, too, and had the word "milli” tattooed or embossed on his back. This is why I had called it a millipede earlier. Instinct had made grab something to crash the little monster which was headed toward me, to attack me. Unlike the reddish brown centipede, this “millipede” had a pair of fierce red eyes. I raised the thing that I grabbed from somewhere on air and aimed to crash the little monster, which was now only a foot away from my feet. The bathroom door opened. The man who emerged from the bathroom accidentally stepped on the earthworm and the reddish brown centipede. The poor creatures disappeared under his bare right foot. He continued to walk toward me. I couldn’t see even a trace of the poor creatures at that point, at the wet foot print behind him, where he accidentally stepped them. Then I noticed the thing I was to use to crush the millipede: It was a badminton racket. I changed my mind. I didn’t want to destroy the racket. With the spur of the moment change of mind, I used my right foot instead to crush the millipede which was now only a few inches from my left foot. But my weight seemed to be not enough to crush the “millipede.” The little devil was so mighty I couldn’t crush its body. It could endure even the weight of that man who emerged from the bathroom and my weight combined. Indeed, we both stepped and concentrated all our combined weights on the little devil’s powerful body. The little devil suffered only loss of three or four disjointed legs, which scattered on the floor.
"Let’s give up,” suggested the man who emerged from the bathroom, “let the devil go.”
I looked at the man’s face. He patted my left shoulder. I looked closer at his face. He was me!
Now the man who emerged from the bathroom, who was me, who could be my other self, picked up the millipede, and when the latter was about to bite the man, who was me, he tossed the animal to the pile of laundry. The “millipede” disappeared in the mixed colors of the different laundry pieces.
He, not I, went back to the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water faucet. I could hear the water running again. The earthworm and the reddish brown centipede mysteriously re-appeared on the same spot where they were supposed to have been crushed. I thought the sound of the water would have guided them toward the cul de sac. They continued their trip toward the slit. I had watched them all the while until they disappeared in the slit.
I turned to the pile of laundry. The millipede, now bigger and longer, was busy devouring the clothes in the laundry.
I felt creepy. I got scared.
I woke up. Bad dream.
The earthworm, I learned from high school biology, is an annelid, a segmented worm; however, the earthworm in my dream had loud segments like those of zebra stripes, only that the worm’s was an array of alternate gray and pale pink stripes or segments. The worm, I figure, was four or five inches long, when fully stretched. Diameter would be around 3 or four millimeters at midsection. It crawled swiftly, away from me, like a frightened snake. I, too, was scared of the way the little monster looked at me. I thought it had a pair of laser-red eyes on one end, another pair on the other rear.
The centipede, a little shorter than the earthworm, was reddish brown. Indeed, it had fifty, hairy pairs of jointed legs. I counted that fast, one to fifty on one side, as fast as it had kept pace with the earthworm. I suppose the centipede was blind or had no eyes at all. Being blind is different from having no eyes. Having eyes but refusing to see is a different thing. I suppose the earthworm was leading the centipede so that the letter was always 20 (centipede) steps behind the former. I suppose they had their way to communicate.
"Stop.” This word had never made it to be processed in my vocal chord. It was only on my mind.
Call it telepathy. The earthworm froze like a sine wave in a three-dimensional plot. With half second time delay, I suppose, the centipede halted, too. A few seconds later, as if my command had expired, they continued their trip, or escape, to the slit between the floor and the bathroom door. The door was closed, light from the bathroom leaked from the slit. I could hear sound of water coming out of the faucet. Somebody was in the bathroom.
When the earthworm and the centipede was a foot (or two) shy from the slit, I noticed a chocolate-colored centipede almost the size of the first one, the reddish brown. It was headed opposite the direction of the other two – toward me. This one had round body, had the same number of legs as the first reddish brown centipede, I counted them, too, and had the word "milli” tattooed or embossed on his back. This is why I had called it a millipede earlier. Instinct had made grab something to crash the little monster which was headed toward me, to attack me. Unlike the reddish brown centipede, this “millipede” had a pair of fierce red eyes. I raised the thing that I grabbed from somewhere on air and aimed to crash the little monster, which was now only a foot away from my feet. The bathroom door opened. The man who emerged from the bathroom accidentally stepped on the earthworm and the reddish brown centipede. The poor creatures disappeared under his bare right foot. He continued to walk toward me. I couldn’t see even a trace of the poor creatures at that point, at the wet foot print behind him, where he accidentally stepped them. Then I noticed the thing I was to use to crush the millipede: It was a badminton racket. I changed my mind. I didn’t want to destroy the racket. With the spur of the moment change of mind, I used my right foot instead to crush the millipede which was now only a few inches from my left foot. But my weight seemed to be not enough to crush the “millipede.” The little devil was so mighty I couldn’t crush its body. It could endure even the weight of that man who emerged from the bathroom and my weight combined. Indeed, we both stepped and concentrated all our combined weights on the little devil’s powerful body. The little devil suffered only loss of three or four disjointed legs, which scattered on the floor.
"Let’s give up,” suggested the man who emerged from the bathroom, “let the devil go.”
I looked at the man’s face. He patted my left shoulder. I looked closer at his face. He was me!
Now the man who emerged from the bathroom, who was me, who could be my other self, picked up the millipede, and when the latter was about to bite the man, who was me, he tossed the animal to the pile of laundry. The “millipede” disappeared in the mixed colors of the different laundry pieces.
He, not I, went back to the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water faucet. I could hear the water running again. The earthworm and the reddish brown centipede mysteriously re-appeared on the same spot where they were supposed to have been crushed. I thought the sound of the water would have guided them toward the cul de sac. They continued their trip toward the slit. I had watched them all the while until they disappeared in the slit.
I turned to the pile of laundry. The millipede, now bigger and longer, was busy devouring the clothes in the laundry.
I felt creepy. I got scared.
I woke up. Bad dream.
{May 1, 2009}
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