Dyslexic who wants to make a mark in the YA book market. Christian. Conservative. Licensed geek and nerd.
Any thoughts would be much appreciated.
Written By: Jenneth LeeD
July 22, 2015
I never before thought I would be viciously attacked in my own room by a villainous air-fairing predator the size of my eye's pupil, but I was. The event I divulge to you now is true, no matter how preposterous it may originally appear. It is a warning for other teenage girls who may find themselves facing off against a similar assailant, totally defenseless save for half a can of air freshener.
The moth came silently one warm Wednesday night. I was on the floor of my room, ambling through the eternal feed of Facebook on my phone, when a flash of light brown against the dark night sky outside my window captured my attention. The blur was instantaneous, leaving no trace of its existence save the fleeting impression it had made from the corner of my eye. I had thought nothing of it...if only I had known a battle for my life was about to instill right in the very safe haven of my bedroom.
Suddenly, as if it were a trained assassin, the moth leapt from the shadows of its hiding place and attacked. It relentlessly used its forward speed as a battering ram against my forearms, smacking its own-self silly against its formidable target.
I swatted repeatedly, turning and twisting around at my place on the floor to gain a visual of my assailant. Finally I caught the fleeting smear of brown vibrating through the air in an arc, zooming around, leveling off, and speeding back towards my unprotected body.
My survival skills kicked in. I jumped to my feet and backed away, hoping the moth would give up its chase and distract itself with the lamp beside my bed. No such luck. The moth turned to face me, flapping its wings like the rev of an engine. No matter how much I dodged and sidestepped, the moth always found me, executing its undying ability to smack against my body.
I looked around frantically, knowing Wind-ex and Raid were far from my reach. Such weapons of mass destruction would be no match for the unlikely assassin if I had possession of them. Unfortunately the artillery was stashed in cupboards around the house. All I had was a small can of Febreze—mostly depleted due to an unsavory odor lingering around my sneakers.
FOR FAITH AND COUNTRY! I gripped the air freshener and spun around with my finger pressed against the trigger, a long tongue of chemical particles spewing forth like a flamethrower and blanketing the room with its stinging smell of freshness.
This was warfare.
Yes, friends of the internet, I was viciously and murderously attacked by a hysteric moth that night in my bedroom. It repeatedly dive-bombed me as I ran about yelling and spraying Febreze in every direction. The air was thick with tiny wet particles glinting in the light and gusting about in air currents from my overhead fan.
Fortunately, my twin brothers heard the terrified cries of battle coming from their sister's room. The two arrived shortly after the first wave of attack, staring dumbly at the ridiculous sight of Man and Moth locked in deadly mortal combat. The creature was on a one-track mission to take me out and had no knowledge human reinforcements had just arrived.
I hit the beast with a forward blast of cleaning supplies that knocked it into a stupefied spiral. The moth tried pulling up, flapping its membranous wings in sheer determination. It was succeeding. It was pulling out of its dance with death!
Connor broadsided the villain with a 347 page hardback novel. The assailant dropped like a rock, landing paralyzed on top of my carpet floor. It helplessly thrashed and convulsed its wings, successfully grounded. If the demon could have spoken, it would have spewed profanities at its defeaters.
Connor, Caleb, and I breathed victorious sighs of relief as we stood over the fallen warrior, marveling at its devoted service to its heinous cause. It would now pay for its crimes.
But as I towered over the helpless creature with a fatal tissue in one hand, I showed a single moment of weakness. Before me I saw an air-fairing free spirit we had single-handedly robbed of flight. Here I was about to crush it's pathetic body in my own merciless grip with hardly a flex of a muscle. My soul was unexplainably conflicted as I beheld the driven creature.
In that one hesitation of child-like compassion, the moth leapt at my sympathetic face, intent on terrorizing the mind that briefly wished it well. I jumped back, shocked at its superhuman ability to heal on the battlefield. Again it ignored my brothers and returned to its sacred mission of dive-bombing me to death.
However, Connor's blow with the book appeared to have knocked a screw loose in the tiny mind of the assassin. It swirled in a rage of pandemonium. Irate wings flapped in a blur. The beast drove me onto my bed in defense, attempting to hide my legs from its crosshairs.
In a crazed attempt to cease its delirium, the deranged moth missiled towards the ceiling and the Spinning Fan Blades of Death. In a single moment of horror, I realized the moth was on a direct course of suicide. It screamed fearlessly through the blurring fan blades at top speed before turning kamikaze and torpedoing itself violently at my forehead as a final attempt at murder.
I yelped, ducking out of the way as the missile blew past. When I looked up, I surveyed the carnage of war: a nearly empty can of bio hazardous material, a forgotten tissue which was to be used as the death sentence, and an unnatural smell of the color white settling over my personal belongings.
Dear reader, the moth's tragic remains are yet to be found, and I have reason to fear the terrorist somehow survived its suicide mission and intends to explore the innards of my mouth whilst I'm asleep. I must be ever vigilant.