“Are you there?”
Silence.
“Are you there, I am asking.”
Silence.
“Well, in case you are and only find it funny to ignore me, this is what you need to know: I am planning to go to bed. Now. I don’t want any interventions from your side. Neither now. Nor in the middle of night or early in the morning. Is this clear?”
Silence.
“Is this clear, I am asking.”
Silence.
“Ok then. I’ll assume that you got my message. I hope your enormous legs will rest peacefully and I will not find them touching my sheets or worse – my body. Beware! You are not that eminent guest as you think you are.”
Having said that, I abruptly turn to the right side facing the very edge of my double bed. I don’t trust him. I will fall asleep and then what? He might be lurking from my back and thinking of attacking me. Shall I move to the floor? But that is even more dangerous. I know he likes floor more than the bed. There he has more space for his legs, and well, that solid parquet floor is kind of romantic.
This is the third night we have been sharing. Well, sort of sharing. In fact, I arrived first. Alone. Here I am now in Lianshui county, Huaian city, Jiangsu province, China. But not a week passed when he crashed my room, my suitcases still unpacked and myself not entirely settled. Now this unwanted guest is such a damn plague that I don’t know what to do with him. Especially at nights when I fear the darkness like never before and pray all night for the morning to arrive sooner. I can no longer sleep freely and relax in my bed. I have even gave him my two pillows and the largest part of the bed, my blanket, my sheets. All for him, myself sleeping on the very edge with my clothes on so that in case of emergency I would be ready to leave the room immediately and run on the street to look for help. His legs terrify me the most. Who knows how far they may stretch once tangled around his body while he is in a deep sleep.
I am sure, he does not even care that I don’t get any sleep at all. In fact, I am struggling with insomnia since that fateful morning when he entered my life. It could have been a pleasant, shiny Saturday morning with a cup of coffee and some cookies as I am sitting on a chair in front of my laptop and wearily checking emails. The sun is shining through my window, and some kids have come out in the school yard to play table-tennis. I take another sip of coffee and THEN… he had to ruin it. First, it was a noise. But nothing like knocking on the door as guests would normally do. In fact, I heard the noise when it was already too late and thus saw him with his long legs, slim body in the very process of landing right on my bed. From where? From the ceiling. In the moment I realized what had just happened, I screamed. He ran away across my blanket and bedsheets as fast as he could hiding somewhere within my bed. Instead of going and looking for him, I stepped back to the door and haven’t seen him since then. But I did feel him in the room.
It’s not that I mind guests, especially those who come from different countries, cultures, species, races. I have always appreciated intercultural dialogue and mutual understanding in order to build bridges for the sake of successful future cooperation etc etc. But… is this how you normally introduce yourself? Fall from the sky and scare someone to death? No, I definitely don’t like guests who don’t knock on the door… Seduction, somebody may argue. Oh yeah, by falling right in my bed armed with 100 legs. I don’t even want to imagine them on my bedsheets and for God’s Sake – all over me.
“Where the hell are you now? Where are you hiding?” I am yelling the next morning as I have survived another sleepless night. This time, I will bear no mercy. I am standing with a weapon in my hand ready to attack. Yes, I can do that. I grin to myself.
“I think we have to end this,” I tell him frankly. I am sure, he has no clue what’s on my mind.
“Get yourself out or you will pay for it hard,” I am trying to convince him in a peaceful way though I already know I won’t give any amnesty.
He does not seem to hear me.
“Well, ok then,” I tell him intriguingly. I prepare my weapon. There is no need to wait longer. I carefully place the thumb of my right hand on the trigger, my other fingers clutching the round device. I count “1, 2, 3…” and then I spray the poison all over the room: in every corner, on bedsheets, on my table, in the ceiling, on the floor, behind the curtain, on my suitcases, everywhere! Only a few seconds, and I find him on the floor next to my bed trying to escape but in vain: his body and legs turning and tossing as he is relentlessly fighting against poison.
“Poor thing,” I say to myself. “But well, you could have knocked on the door, dude.”
I sweep the dead centipede on a piece of paper and get him down to the waste container.
Travel to Tell the Tale 