Writing by Muriel Munga Closeup typewriter
Get out

“Can you please get out?” I said nicely.
All I got was a stare and stern look.

Guys…let me ask you something: “when you have such a behaviour in front of you, what are you supposed to do?”
And this was going on and on and every single day. Same ol’…same ol’. This really bugged me. I could feel violent feelings mounting inside of me…but there was no way I was going to let it all out . I had to be cool about it.
I just watched and asked: “You ain’t gonna go, are you?” No answer. Nada. Nothing. Not a word. Just a sneer and eyes going up and down, head bopping to some imaginary sound then moved away from me.
What the heck was that for? Did I really need to go through this?
I think some of us need authority pressed onto ‘them head’ like a hammer if you don’t want to be taken for a fool.
So I did. I used my authority.
Sat her littleness down and said: “Look you lil’ prick… I never liked people getting into my house uninvited, a’ight? Are you listening to me? So please… get your things and be gone!”
Or else.
I got stares. Then laughter. That was it for me.
My hand just went “Wham! Bam!!”
“That’s for playing me like an idiot!”
The lil’ impertinent got what she deserved. She fell and it was my turn to look at her, pleasingly awaiting her last breath.
Yeah…I just a killed a mosquito.
Listen guys…don’t go laughing on me, you hear me? I had to.
The acute humming of female mosquitoes were not aimed at me that’s for sure but they were still annoying. Plus she made me go through a daily “catch-me-if-you-can” slalom around the house, making me hop like a kangaroo, stretching my arm like a tennis player…only to miss it every single time!
So I had to. It felt good.
Slam.
Bam.
Dead.
Period.
Now who’s in charge, uh?