Sometimes I see a scary tiny insect on the floor.

I forget that it is me who is in control for a while.

I wear shoes. And stamp on it.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

Leaving no doubt as to its fate.

I am scared to look it in the eye, the inconsequential creature who occupies a disproportionate space in my head. I know if I don’t kill it now, it will hide somewhere where I can’t find it, I will think it is gone and suddenly, out of the blue it will reappear.

It will make me blind again. Wanting just one thing, one thing, one thing that forever stays out of my reach.

The cycle will keep repeating. Neither living with it or without it.

Sane people would let it be, let it go its own way knowing it doesn’t stay for long.

Pragmatic ones will lift it carefully on a piece of paper and slowly show it out of the door.

But no. That doesn’t work for me.

I have to stamp on it. Massacre it. Murder it.

And finally when I look for it after crushing it, I see nothing at all. No evidence it existed except in memory. Not a wrinkle in space-time that will remind me of its existence.

It’s gone.

I have decimated it.

I am utterly and completely free.


So it is with hope.