Loathing.
This word is synonymous with "Brown Recluse". When I think Brown Recluse, I think loathe.
I had a hatch-out a few months ago and went on a killing rampage, smashing here and there with no remorse, no screams, and definitely no tears. I thought I'd gotten them all, but no. The eight-legged beasts were brooding under broken plastic bathroom flooring, growing to the size of rodents, filling every crack, hiding in every corner, masquerading as little brown pieces of furniture...(am I going too far?).
Where were you on August 29th, 2011 at 23:09?
I was in my upstairs bathroom preparing to brush my teeth, but the sink was already claimed. Brown One crawled like spindly molasses across the white porcelain. I'd never seen a body so fat or legs so thick. This was the mother of all Brown Recluses.
I didn't jump. I didn't scream. I didn't fret or freak out. I went into my room and found my Nikon P90 for a memorable photo of the largest Brown Recluse I'd ever seen before I squished his brains out. I also snatched a quarter off my bedside table to compare against the spider. Returning to the bathroom, I zoomed the lens on Brown One a few times, but it wouldn't focus. When I moved to drop the quarter into the sink, my courage wavered. What if I startled Brown One and he escaped?
As if reading my thoughts, Brown One zipped into super-spider-speed and scurried across old toothpaste residue like he was fleeing for his life (or charging an attack).
I screamed bloody murder (something I never do).
My black Sketcher took the place of the camera and I attacked Brown One like Serena Williams playing tennis.
It took around 7 misses and 3 hits to stun him enough so I could smash him. I pulled a muscle in my shoulder in my attempts, but it was worth it. Brown One sailed down the drain in a curled ball of death.
Just before the toothpaste mde it to my toothbrush (yes, I still had the stomach to scrub my teeth clean after that), my eye landed on a spikey shadow behind my toilet--holding still. Too still.
I peered at the form with a glare and let out a "No way...".
Sure enough, Brown Two (only half the size of Brown One) had witnessed the slaughter. I used the toe of my shoe (still in my hand), to end his measly little life. During this murder, I disturbed the plastic overlapping the bathroom flooring under which had been lurking...(drum roll, please)...
...Brown Three--the mother of the mother I'd just killed in the sink, practically the size of Shelob from Lord of the Rings. I was so stunned (and busy shrieking again) that I allowed Brown Three to escape back under the flooring. I then spent ten minutes smooshing the linoleum, hoping to crush Brown Three beneath it. One of its legs popped out of the crack, so I figured I'd done a thorough job, but now my bravery was shaken. Spider carcasses everywhere, paranoia at every black spot on the carpet...
I slept at a friend's house and called pest control the next morning.
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