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First Kill

From the time I was four, we have lived in Sasebo, Japan. Of course, this seems great to most people. We have authentic Japanese food at our fingertips, we live in a Japanese culture, and the community is incredibly safe. So safe, in fact, that we have left umbrellas and other personal belongings places and come back days or weeks later to find them untouched. We marvel at the mysterious disappearances of our things whenever we go back to the states because that just never happens here. Most everything is safe. Including the spiders. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t creepy. Or there aren’t any. There are tons. My friends refuse to come over during the summertime because the spiders are big and more than plentiful. Every minute of every summer day in Sasebo, I usher in winter. I start wearing hoodies in mid September, when it’s still eighty degrees out. I wear jeans whenever possible and basically try to turn my world into a winter wonderland. Of course, I end up sweating for four months straight from September to December but at long last, winter settles in. I hate the cold. I hate almost everything about winter. The only thing I truly look forward to during the winter besides Christmas is the absence of spiders.

Countless times, I have walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, only to look up and see a spider on the wall in front of me. I’ve found spiders in coats, beds, rooms, bathrooms, shoe cupboards, the shoes themselves, on the ceiling, in the shower, and hidden amongst wires. I only started to kill my own spiders last year, when I turned twelve. I still remember my first kill. I doubt I’ll ever forget it. It was amazing.

While my parents were busy getting the kids to bed, I went to my room to get my pajamas. I opened the door to find not only my pajamas, but a spider right next to them. I looked him over, trying to determine if he was fast. I remember feeling really creeped out because there was no way the spider wasn’t staring right back. Ugh. I slowly backed out of the room to make sure he wouldn’t flip out and run away, and I quickly dashed into Thomas’ room to grab the attic pole. I grabbed it. I could feel the cold metal in my hands and thought of my ancestors gripping their swords as tightly as I did my attic pole. I slowly walked into my room and stared at the spider. He was still frozen on the spot. I felt the souls of the Aztec warriors beside me as I zoned in on my kill. I walked slowly towards him. One of his legs moved back a bit. This movement scared the crap out of me and I lunged towards him with my pole. He disappeared. I swore under my breath. If only I had that speed. I visualized myself crushing his body over and over as I turned over every item in my room looking for him. At last, as I lifted up a bright orange T-shirt, I saw him. He sped away, not taking his chances like last time. I chased after him. He ran to the side of my bed and started to run vertically on my bed spring. I growled. “OH NO YOU LITTLE **** YOU ARE NOT GOING ON MY BED.” I stabbed the attic pole at him to get him off. It worked and he jumped down onto the floor. I stabbed all around him, trying to confuse him. Again, it worked. He froze for a split second and I used that second to smash the attic pole onto his body. His leg broke off and I quietly crowed my triumph. He kept running, though much slower. I easily broke off two more legs and then crushed his body over and over. I felt an intense fear and anger build up inside me, but adrenaline beat both. When I was convinced that he wasn’t going to pop up again (they’re great actors), I sat on my bed, my weapon beside me, and breathed. I stared at the corpse of my enemy and smiled a great, evil smile. I knew I would have the honor of doing this again. I could celebrate my warrior skills once more. I stood up as a great warrior should, with my attic pole beside me, and went to find my dad to clean the body up.



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