I came back from the gym sweaty and tired. My thumb was bruised in the basketball game, and I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was shower. I stood in the bathroom, waiting for the water to get hot, and I noticed a centipede crawling in the sink.
It was a nasty breed, all legs and twitching antennae. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, there was stark contrast, and all the details of its body were visible. This was no beige centipede that slinks around the corner of a basement cellar. This was a monster, with black bands on its jointed legs. It scurried up the bowl of the sink, but fell back against the smooth sides.
I took my flip flop in my hand and hit it. It wasn’t a particularly strong hit, nor well aimed. The centipede frantically tried to scale the walls of the sink again, and I noticed some of its legs were dragging uselessly, dangling in their sockets. I hit the centipede again, and this time several legs came off in the sink, but they were twitching, almost trying to crawl away, and the centipede was writhing in pain. Disgusted, I turned on the sink, but the water was weak. Still, the centipede was weaker, and the current dragged it to the drain. There it struggled desperately, clutching the metal pipes within the drain with admirable tenacity. I could take no more. I got into the shower with the sink still on, and did not turn it off when I left the bathroom. For all I know, the centipede struggles still.