On My Battle With Nature
It’s not nearly as dramatic as I’m making it sound, but what’s the harm? Let me set the scene.
We find our hero (me) in the early hours of the morning. His eyes grow heavy – he is weary after a long day consuming various media and going on a sizeable walk. Nevertheless, he remains on his guard. A nearby window has been open for some time now – what foul beasts had made their way in? Our hero wasn’t keen to find out. But find out he did. The creature waited for a moment of vulnerability before revealing itself. And so, our hero crossed the threshold into his room unaware of the small remnant of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, and of the creature that awaited him inside.
The hero entered, immediately spying his foe. Roughly the size of his fist, but not to be underestimated, it had approximately six wiry, spindly limbs attached to a central body. Almost impossibly light, it was immediately clear that the creature would have speed on its side in a fight. The hero knew he had to vanquish it. Ethicists and other squeamish or weak-willed folk would have doubted this conclusion, but the hero knew his decision was sound. The beast had invaded his sacred space, and threatened still a peaceful night of rest. The hero would not stand for this. He had to defend what was his.
Our hero considered his options. The creature taunted him with ease by rubbing its little legs together in glee as it hopped across the ceiling, laughing too in the face of gravity. This would have to be a long-range fight, but the hero knew he was already working at a disadvantage. Principally, he had no apparent weapons, nothing with the reach required to bring an end to the creature. Just as crucial, though, was the hero’s father, sleeping not five metres from the battleground. As the hero had vowed not to let the beast disrupt his rest, he made the same vow of himself for his father. This battle would be a silent one, known only to the night and its shadows.
On the back foot, the hero finally had an idea – water. Almost poetic, he thought, to use the source of all life in this instance to end one. A short while later he had his vessel, small enough to manoeuvre but large enough for the required volume. And so the two foes, hero and villain, faced each other on the battleground. Our hero launched one attack, then another, but to little result. The creature deftly dodged navigated its way between the airborne bursts of water, and seemed almost invincible to the small amounts it did encounter. Our hero was close to giving up, but the fates were not yet ready to give up on him. Filled with hubris, the creature slowly sauntered vertically down the cupboard, mocking its opponent. Our hero found his moment and seized it, launching the water with pinpoint accuracy, instantly bringing an end to that which had tormented him so. He disposed of the body, towelled down the battlefield and enjoyed the rest he had most definitely earned. It was over.