My housemate got freaked b/c a "big bug" came into her room. That bug was a moth. Another housemate, also female, tried to help her capture it of all things. The girls screamed girly screams while trying to capture and release the bug back into the wild. They were so loud I could not really hear the television so I eventually went in and saw what the deal was. It was a big moth. I got hold of the paper and mug female roomie 1 had been trying to use to escort the moth out of the room. I took over and got up on the chair used to reach the bug on the ceiling. The thing flew around erratically like moths do in the half foot cubed area the lamp made. I thought there was no way I could kill the thing, tweaking out rapidly in the lamp. I had not told the two I was going to smear the bug, but all of a sudden it landed still on the ceiling and I went in for the kill. I was not even that fast but I squarely pushed its body in, as though the time had come. I could feel the moth's face get crushed motherfucker as I compressed it. Before I killed it it looked about as cute as a moth could. As I brought the bug body down from the lamp area it was on its back on white paper. I slowly and carefully lowered the bug as it descended. The bug seemed to sacrifice itself of give up as it did not use its bug reflexes of insane quickness to escape my murdddda murda. He was like, "I will die so you, John Staley, can look like the man in front of these two ladies." I felt bad about making the little gray stain on the ceiling, not for the sake of the mess but because I personified the bug as a sacrificial figure.
I realized something that rinsed my anxiety to a lower level; the fact that the bug died in a spot that it would want to be most means I killed it in its paradise. A light packed ecstasy. That bug was on moth heroine. Moth horse - so fuck it. It went that way.
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