The Bug Killer

"Oh my God! They're everywhere!" Ben stood staring in horror at the flies that had flown through the screen door.

"Well, it's your job to kill them," I said, as I continued to fix dinner.

"There's one!" Ben leaped to the side to bat at a bug. The flies whirled around the kitchen, looking for away to escape or food to land on.

"There's another one!" he slapped at one with a piece of rolled up paper. The fly fell to the ground, and Ben pounced on it like a hungry cat.

"Got him!" he said triumphantly. He dramatically strode to the garbage disposal and dropped the fly in there. I stared at him in disgust.

"Eww," I wrinkled my nose. Ben's eyes were wide with excitement as he purred the fly. "Bye bye," he sang.

For the next thirty minutes, my maniacal bug killer was hopping and storming about the kitchen. He slid from one side to the other, spraying windex and wielding his trusty rolled up paper. I would look up from preparing dinner to find him silently stalking a fly, a single finger on his lips.

"Shhh," he would whisper quietly. "AHAHAHA!" throwing himself at the fly, he'd quickly beat it to death with the paper.

As I continued to fix dinner, the warzone erupted around me. The dreaded paper would slam next to my shoulder or on the opposite counter. Windex would hit the back of my leg. I became concerned that if the fly landed on my leg, that it might be an innocent bystander to the paper of justice.

After the flies had been purred, dunked in windex or faced even grizzlier deaths, Ben triumphantly sat on the couch, where he demanded peanuts.

"You know, the flies are out there because that trash bag is out there," he said, staring at the T.V. "You should put it in the can."

"Why don't you do that for me?" I asked, forgetting he was already on the couch. Once on the couch, only a hundred dollar bill or hot fudge brownie sundae could lure him away.

"Because," Ben said smugly, smiling at me. "I am the bug killer. That is my job."