Death Machine Regrets

[Rod Drake]

Crickets chirp loudly to each other in the big yard and garden—nature’s sound curtain to a cool and pleasant summer evening.  Fireflies twinkle in the darkness, odd little floating lights that wink into being, then vanish; soon they will be mine.  Mosquitoes have driven the humans indoors, so now the wispy blood-suckers are hypnotically drawn to me, my holy white light calling them, killing them, incinerating them out of existence. 

I am bright death, electricity made lethal, the amount of current flowing through me hums ominously in the night as insects circle curiously around me (what fools they be).  I am the bug zapper, the death machine that hangs so innocently on this nice old porch, my comfortable home in the spring and summer, then packed away reverently in the garage for fall and winter. 

I have killed tens of thousands, flying insects of every type and description, and I am content, happy in my role, but still . . . I want that one June bug that escaped me all those years ago.

 

[Mike Handley]

The June bug ... OF COURSE! 

[Kristine_ES]

i wondered what kind of regret a death machine like this would have... and now i know. 

but mr. death machine... you'll outlive the june bug! the best revenge is a long life, after all! :)