In Monday’s post, I enumerated a few things that I am good at. I neglected to mention one very vital and important skill. I am an experienced and brutal killer.
I am legendary. Although you all are aware of my stealthy ninja-like ways with a camera phone, I am even more stealthy and deadly as a true assassin. I have been known to kill multiple targets with one fell swoop. And to rack up a list of kills made in one day that is truly impressive.
My children have even come to discover these skills of mine and have brought targets to my attention and implored me to “Kill him, mommy. Get him!” Ahh, my sons. I am shaping their young minds to embrace the lifestyle of the ninja. I will pass on to them my techniques and proficiency in the art of destroying the enemy. Soon, my boys. Soon.
But last night, my master ninja assassin skills were tested. Nay, they were bested. By an adversary that was never before seen or experienced by my expert eyes.
It was late in the evening. The darkness had closed it’s arms around my home and I was closing up the house for the night in preparation for slumber. I opened the back door to let the dog inside, and unwittingly opened up my abode to this frightening foe. His voice was terrifyingly loud like a buzzsaw. His image rose above me and he moved rapidly and frantically, trying to escape from my clutches. I had never before seen such a massive specimen in my home before. He was a giant. A monstrous example of his kind. I was fearful, but knew what I had to do. I went to retrieve my weapons, keeping my eyes trained on his ever moving form, so as not to lose him in the shadows. And that is when he attacked. I ducked down below his reach and was able to out manuever his jukes and jabs. Once he realized his first moves were thwarted, he retreated to a hidden nook for a moment to regroup. But I would not let him rest. “Come out and fight me, you coward!” I yelled out, as I used my weapons to prod him from his secreted space. But he would not budge. He merely shrieked at me angrily every time I thrust my weapons in his direction and disturbed his reverie.
At this time I felt I needed reinforcements. Greater weapons would be necessary, as this adversary was far more deadly and mammoth than any other previously encountered. Ahh, but that was my mistake. He had waited for my distraction. A moment of weakness. And this is when he made his move for escape, shrieking his loud war cry of freedom. He flew from his safe house and fled from the scene. And this is when I discovered my true fault . . . when he started ascending to the bedrooms above. Where my children lay sleeping. Their doors cracked open. Safely snuggled in their beds, awaiting their mother’s kisses goodnight. He was heading for their rooms.
And then it went quiet. No more shrieking war cries from the intruder. No sounds at all. Complete silence. Which was the most harrowing sound of all. Without his buzzing voice, I could not find where he had escaped to in the upper part of my home. I searched the children’s rooms, but there was no sign of him. I examined all the places he could have hidden himself in every bedroom in the house, to no avail. But that is his skill. He can secret himself in the smallest of spaces, just waiting for his moment. When you least expect it. When you are resting, perhaps. But there was no sign of him.
There was not much sleep that night. My children slept soundly, as I can attest. Listening most of the night, I laid there waiting for the sounds of the intruder to be vocalized in one of the bedrooms. But no sounds were heard. Just the sounds of silence. Of my sleeplessness. Of darkness. And foreboding.