The Raid attack on the zombie bugs only had an 80% effectivity rate. Many of the bugs continue to live.
Some flit around the still-empty pantry; I’ve seen more still in the kitchen. These die as they appear, but every day new soldiers take their place. I don’t know from where they come, and I continually search for food that may be infested. If the slightest air of suspicion surrounds it, it goes to the garbage.
I can often be seen in my kitchen, holding my instrument of bug death: a Swiffer, upright, sans cloth on its flat surface. I shout and twist, reaching the hammer of impending doom up towards the ceiling, slamming it down on soft insect bodies.
“Die, you scum-sucking ally of Satan!”
Mom turns to me and says, completely serious, “It’s good to see you go on a maniacal killing spree.”
“Says my mother the Buddhist,” I mutter sardonically, squishing another destroyer of grains beneath my large, modern mop.
It is a long war. A new battle rages every day. I do not know how long the enemy will last…or how much longer I can stand up to them before allowing myself to be overrun.
I begin to think the only solution is to nuke Coquitlam from orbit.