Thursday, August 26, 2010

Scream like a Girl

“A girl is a person who screams at the mouse and smiles at the wolf.” Shyam Kapoor

Let’s get a couple things straight here; I’ve never been a screamer. Maybe, it’s the tomboy in me, but I don’t ever remember letting out one of those high pitched wailing screams - A scream capable of sending a shudder dancing up someone’s spine and teeth chattering in grinding pulsation.

Since we’re trading personality traits, I'll readily admit I am a flinger. I’m 98% sure all humans are ingrained with the fling reflex on the off chance something offending, somehow finds its way into their hand.

All these things play a role in the following story. Beware what happens when a writer’s imagination gets away with her.

I turned off the light and snuggled down into clean sheets and up to Paul. My hand absently strokes against something rough, which tickles my palm (this isn’t that kind of story). I immediately felt along the length of my braid to the tail end, making sure my braid wasn’t the culprit. The realization that’s not me slams home with a shudder. Fingers outstretched, I explore the space beside my pillow once again. Oh holy mother…whatever it is, is now in my hand with legs, lots of legs. I fling it toward the end of the bed.

Now here’s where it gets stupid, really stupid. I should have known. A classic ‘don’t open that door’ moment from a horror movie. For one the working dog wonder did not run out of the room post haste with her tail tucked between her legs, and she’s deathly afraid of bugs.

Reluctant to turn on the light like a frightened little girl, I refused to be alarmed and curl back up under the covers, only to stare restless for hours at the end of the bed. Waiting. My eyes droop heavily, shuttering open and closed in a fitful fight against the sandman and sleep. Slumber wins in a welcome tired reprieve.

Mere minutes later, my eyes fly open. Something had scurried crablike over my wrist and off. A low moan, escapes my lips. Fingers curl inward and around the revolting crawling heap until goo leaks down over my knuckles, followed by a crackling pop. I react and fling the predatory nuisance over the edge of the bed. With a groan, I grab up a handful of tissues and scrub at my hand.

At this point you would think (at least the logical assumption would be), I’d turn on a light to see my nemesis. Instead, I push myself deep into the middle of the bed - shoving Paul to the edge and almost off the far side, and wrap the sheets and quilt around me tight, leaving my side of the bed bare. I sat vigil waiting, expecting something to come crawling over the edge with possible reinforcements this time.

Dare I peek? The way my night was going? Not a chance. At this rate, I’d find the boogey man hiding under the bed. Four AM – I finally fall into a fitful sleep.

The next morning emboldened by the light of day, I searched every square inch of my bedroom for the night creeper. Nothing – not one single insectile leg or denizen was to be found.

So now we’ve established three things: I’m not a screamer, I’m a flinger, and I’m a writer. If only I could stop psyching myself out and imagining a nauseating creature crawling off to lick her wounds and spawning more of her ilk for revenge.

Things of note:
*Paul would have gladly come to my rescue had I awoke him.
**No one was bitten by a repugnant bug during this reenactment.
***Writer’s tend to let their imaginations create dystopia realities, when confronted by alien like bugs.


41 comments:

  1. LOL..sounds a little like me, slinger not a screamer. but sometime I wood have gotten up and found out what was being so persistent...and O how does the imagination run wild...too funny!

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  2. Can I do both? Cuz I do. Jeeze, it's kinda embarassing to be such a bug wimp!

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  3. Sorry. I'm a screamer. Big time. My problem is that my reaction-mechanism is always on full-throttle. As soon as I feel any little, slimy, buggy, leggy thing crawling on me (and I can feel it the moment it hits my skin), I scream, fling, prance, jump, turn on lights, wake up husband....you get the drift. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is getting a good night's sleep until the little bugger is found and smashed and killed to a pulp. Hence, I don't go camping, never been camping, don't care for camping. Gardening...it's a challenge. City girl, what can I say....


    btw, I came upon your blog by way of another (can't remember who) and I love the way you write....very engaging....

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  4. Funny story! Man, I would have HAD to turn on a light and make sure that the bug met its demise otherwise I would not be able to sleep!!

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  5. I would have had to search for the critter until I found it. Otherwise it would have bugged me all night long.

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  6. I'm not a screamer. I do fling though.

    You have reminded me about a night time encounter with a big (five inches across) spider.
    I will have to post about that on my blog at some point.

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  7. if the bug takes me by surprise i will scream and then kill it. if i can see it coming i will usually catch and release.....

    xxalainaxx

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  8. Ummm, I would have screamed. Like a little girl. And that picture on your post? I almost hurled. I hate those hairy centipides! With a passion!

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  9. Not a screamer either, I flick, fling and swat! Love your blog :)

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  10. I love how you say you're a writer. Because you are.

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  11. I'm a jumper...big time...

    xxx

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  12. Ooh, creepy, Indigo. I've got the heebie jeebies! Bugs do it to me, especially bugs with lots of legs. I'm a simultaneous screamer and flinger.

    Your story was awesomely told; I was right there in bed with you (erm... you know what I mean...). And I loved (and hated, too, to be honest) that I knew exactly what you meant went you talked about squishing the thing and the pop you heard. UGH!

    Awesome story.

    I hope you find the bug, in broad daylight.

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  13. I would have flung it off and gotten up to find out what it was. I could not stand not knowing.

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  14. Some bugs do not bother me, others cause me to fling/sling like a champion.

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  15. AHHHHH!! I do not like that bug in the picture at all. I would be a screamer and a flinger. Ewwwwww.

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  16. This just creeped me out to the point of goosebumps that refuse to leave my arms. Thanks a lot, Indigo; I read this at 2:00 a.m. thinking I'd go to bed afterward. Fat chance of sleep happening now! Ewwwwww.

    (p.s. Never been a screamer, but once flung a clipboard across my desk at work out of frustration and was told by the boss to go home for the day and cool down--really!

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  17. Love it Idigo !!#I am going ti share somthing that a friend recently wrote I think you will appreciate it...had had your E add I would have sent it direct...sorry..
    The Poet Within

    Like an artist with a canvas, which is brilliantly white,
    So the poet faces anguish in the middle of the night,
    Seeking for the words she can delicately add,
    Making sure they rhyme, as they are scribbled on a pad.

    Each and every thought she will meticulously form,
    Like an actor on the stage, she will in time perform,
    Exposing all her feelings, the blood, the sweat, the tears,
    Delicate vocabulary she's gained throughout the years.

    Slowly she will pen, 'til arrival of the dawn,
    On every life experience she will in time have drawn,
    Opening her soul for a world of sweet critique,
    A kindly word of favour is all that she shall seek.

    She writes from somewhere deep, very deep within her heart,
    She might not have an ending, let alone a start,
    Sometimes the hours will pass and afford her not a word,
    All her inspiration falters, all her cries for help unheard.

    For words will come so slowly, and then gather their momentum,
    one or two at first, then eventually per centum,
    And she tries to write them down, before they vanish in the air,
    As the poem culminates with a flourish and a flair.

    In all of us, inside, lurks the poet there within,
    We have a masterpiece of poetry, just waiting to begin,
    We have words as yet unspoken, waiting for the time,
    We can add them all to paper, and formulate our rhyme.

    So when you cannot sleep in the middle of the night,
    Maybe then's the time to take up a pen and write?
    For inside each persons soul, is a poem to describe,
    And we all have deep inside us, the makings of a Scribe.


    Copyright ©2005 Sally Y Hemingway

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  18. That light would have had to go on ~ I would have to know what it was that invaded my bed :O) I am a slinger not a screamer ~ Ally x

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  19. Screamer here!--most especially with bugs. When I feel something creepy-crawly, I'd scream, jump, and call my brother to kill it!

    LOL, leslie:D

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  20. There is some reptilian assassin hidiing in my closet and don't try to tell me there isn't.
    D

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  21. I don't scream, I'm suppressed that way.. but I do yelp ..and jump out of the way fast..
    pull a muscle..

    This makes for an interesting chat topic... .

    Have a cheerful Sunday.

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  22. HEEEYYY!!! I lost you somewhere along the way so glad to have founf you agin while reading Morts blog this morning! what's up??? :-)

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  23. I'm so glad I found you again. I lost you for awhile. Don't know how that happened. LOL

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  24. Too funny, Indigo. I love the vividness of this piece. Just yesterday I had the privelege of seeing an alien creature in my kitchen sink. It was huge and hairy--a centipede/wooly bear caterpillar hybrid about six inches longer than it should have been.

    I'm not a screamer or a flinger, but none the less I did call in DH for reinforcements!

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  25. I'm more of a yelper. And I definitely fling.

    Whatever it was, I'm glad it didn't bite you!

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  26. you didn't check to see what it was??????
    you are much more brave than i. i would have been scouring the room all night, searching for friends.

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  27. You're brave! To actually touch it and fling it is heroic in my books.

    That said, I'd have had to know where it is. I've been known to 'track' a spider for hours waiting for someone to come home and get rid of it :)

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  28. I would have been so outta that bed so fast I would have beat my scream to the door. And I would not have gone back to bed until the entire bed had been searched and stripped and gotten new sheets.

    Helen

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  29. Ooooh, creepy!

    Yeah, it's a risk turning on the light, but it's a risk I would have to take, nonetheless!

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  30. Hello! I am most definitely a flinger. Love your writing - this was really nice to read, even though I am sure the sleepless night was not one you'd like to revisit!

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  31. Indigo, I loved this! I was shuddering as I read it, and yes, I'm a screamer.

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  32. Ha, I'd have screamed.

    And I totally thought it was THAT kind of post at first. I was thinking, "Bow chicka bow bow."

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  33. I'm a flinger and I also throw things at the creepy crawlies. I also rush for the insecticide. I'm not a screamer.

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  34. TOTALLY! But, yeah I would have squealed and woken somebody up to help me search--lol!

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  35. Cool story, Indigo! I recently had something crawling up my leg. I'd just come in from the garden which was full of yellow-jackets. I freaked out, tugged my pants down and found a grasshopper a few inches above my knee, just hanging out.

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  36. Yikes! You gave me the heebie jeebies!

    If I'm startled, what issues from my mouth is more of a raspy yell. I have a low voice, anyway, so there is nothing high-pitched about me! Hugs!

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  37. oh GOOD GOD this post freaks me out. I am exactly like you in hundreds of ways, apparently. I am not a screamer but I don't like being startled by bugs and I am DEFINITELY a flinger. But man...curiosity would have gotten the better of me and I would have turned on the lights and hunted that damn evil thing until I squished its brains out.

    ::shudder::

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  38. that's crazy! i would have jumped, blasted the lights on and hunted that creature until it was found, trapped it in tupperware and evicted it outside the home. but then, i wouldn't have had a great story to tell the next day:)
    then i would have had a nightmare about centipedes attacking me.
    i like your easy going story telling style. nice to meecha:)

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  39. It's nice to reconnect with you... have missed your entries and can't remember how we lost touch. I stopped journaling for a long time is how I think... and I have to admit that I'm definitely a bug wimp. LOL

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Thank you for giving my silence a voice, my muse your words, and taking the time to discover my prose.