WHITE BUG

by Benjamin H.Proctor

I was in a room making pizza. For some reason, I didn't think about what was going on the pizza or what was in the dough or that kind of shit. All that came natural, cause like fuck, I've made pizza enough times in my life. So no problems in making pizza. The room was dim; a light bulb hanging from the ceiling by its own electric cord cast all the light. The table was one of those cheap folding card tables, and it shook as I pushed the ingredients around on it. Somewhere along the lines, probably a couple hours earlier, I ate the first pizza with a couple friends. We were at the brink of a series of sand roads, and there was talk about running and a need for food. The first pizza was good, or at least not bad, anyway. The sand roads went on forever and that's why I opted to stay behind and stand in that dim room. At least that was my impression of why I stayed behind, but you never know; motives often refract themselves without telling me about it.

So I throw some ingredients on the shell, it was a thick shell, and put the pie in the oven. When I pulled it out, like three quarters of the fucking thing had been eaten, or at least was missing. Whether or not it was eaten I'm not quite sure, but it's the best theory I've got at this point. I looked what was left of my pizza, shaped like a crescent moon. I hadn't put any cheese on, just a bunch of random vegetables. They had cooked enough on the shell so that they looked like vomit: the corn, the beans, the peppers, the leeks, tomatoes and whatever else I had dropped onto it. I placed my palm over the surface of the pizza. I expected the steam to warm and moisten my hand, but the pizza felt dry. I pinched a chunk of tomato between my fingertips to squeeze the water out of it and onto the surface of the shell. I did the same with a pepper and some kernels of corn. The water squeezed from the vegetables was milky on the shell's surface, like water when pasta is left boiling too long in it. I picked up the entire pizza and squeezed lengthwise so that the dough would suck in the water from the vegetables like a sponge. The water disappeared into dough, but the vegetables and the dough still looked dry.

It looked like a vegetable at first, maybe a hunk of potato. It was white and about the size of a catÕs eye. Looking closer, I saw it had ridges between sections of overlapping white shell, like thin ceramic tile in crescent shapes. Two threadlike antennae crept out from underneath it. I poked a finger to it. Its white external skeleton uncurled like a lobsterÕs tail, and legs, more than I could count, waved as it struggled on its back.

It turned itself over and crawled off the pizza shell. Slowly, I picked up a butterknife. I thought my aim was good, but the bug was too quick; I stabbed straight into the card table. Standing there with my fist still clenched around the butter knife, I could no longer see the white bug. In my left ear, I heard a low-pitched whir.

Carefully I turned my head and there it was, hovering in the air just inches from my face. I let go of the butterknife and reached for the dishtowel. Madly swinging at the air with the towel I hoped to slash down the bug, but the whirring continued. I reached for the door. I remembered right outside there was a small tank of insecticide. I suck my hand out the door and grabbed for it. I pushed down the decompression lever and the room filled with gas. The pesticide was thick; it stung my lungs and made me dizzy, but I could still see the white bug through it. It puttered in the air for a few seconds, then fell to the floor. I walked over to it. It was still intimidating even thought it was dead. I lifted my boot over the carcass and pressed down. Its skeleton made a crunch against the floor. My foot was suddenly warm. I lifted by foot to see the carcass on the floor, but it was stuck to my boot. I tried to peel it off, but somehow managed to fling it onto my shirt, were I rubbed it mechanically and quickly. It burned through my shirt, then wet and hot on my skin.

An interpretation:

When you killed a creature like a white bug, even it is dead, still it can burned your clothing, your body and make you sick. Thus, do not attemt to kill any creature it may enter into your dreams. B.U.

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