Games we never mention

To sudden referrals made in the house.

Several times you’ve caught a cockroach meandering around the dustbin but if it’s dead then it must be its cousin you met yesterday and, he’s not pretty at all. So what is needed is a piece of rice, some beige powder that works wonders. But after sleeping restlessly waiting for dawn, a hen-roach is on your pillowcase, smiling and even trying to say good morning. Ugh!

“Did your brother die yesterday?” you ask as you flex some muscle.

For an answer, a nod. That little neck even dares to reply. Then, in quiet reflex she wipes her face with a leg filled with her saliva which serves a good reminder that after waking up you need to wash your face too.

“So you’ve devoured my whole cabinet then moved here to check on the owner…m-h?”

This time she shakes her head and even attempts a smile. For certain, she must have giggled, you think.

Being superior you apply poker rules.

Slowly the nearest flat item is grabbed with eyes still focused on her.

“And do you mind telling me the time that you arrived at the party?” simply buying seconds, but she’s cool; totally ignorant, fully immersed in a quick bath. This here is another princess. Huh!

“So you won’t even tell me how many you came with?”

Pa! I hit it. I hit it. And I will dance till I’m late for work.

Slowly, you turn a novel only to see the bulging title ‘Heroes Never Quit’. No brown wings, no slime.

There and then all your attention is drawn to finding that tiny pest. It becomes a game without a name.

“Must’ve flown under the bed,” is a good idea you begin with. Creeping silently, you haul the falling duvet back to an appropriate position and duck your head quickly under the bed. Without warning, memes of house-cleaning reverberate with the sight of a bush of forgotten outfits and what-nots. As you’re still deciding on the date or whether to check for that puny rival, your sweep doesn’t evade a winged insect rushing for the door.

Thinks it’s clever than a human. Let’s see.

The flipper is the next correct choice. With it in hand you make a striking home run to the door’s base. This time, I’ve smashed the brains dead. Finally, I can go to work!

You make a hesitant twist on the club. It’s empty...! EMPTY, like it never sniffed the bat at all. Another twist to the original position and, there it is! That little devil is staring straight into your eyes. Without thinking you release the footwear in shock. Then slowly reason returns. The appropriate question is, “How’s that possible? Is it?” Doubt answers but reason negates fervently. But, there’s no time to debate while the enemy gets away, and it’s escaping quite fast.

Level 1 is done with. Now, the corridor tiles pave way for the one-on-one bout.

“Ha ha! It’s either you come through me ‘r-else, I’ll trump on you.” a silly smile creeps its way out. This phrase you need to be remember, that is, if the bedroom’s underworld will also be salvaged from insanity. It’s a long way home.

Left, right, left, right you match for the sublime creature has nowhere to hide. This pattern is familiar with scouts. But I seem to be tiptoeing in my own house, like a…The enemy has hit a wall. You take pleasure at the sight of it climbing a corner covered in glossy oil painting, smooth to the touch. Precaution sets in too, “A corner is not the best place to curb a one-inch bug unless it’s a rat.” Hmm, never thought of that. That too is to be recalled if, the previous phrase…must have some trump somewhere in it…Ah, yes. You either beat me or I’ll trump you…No, no, no… never went like that.

Those few seconds of brainstorming has shed light to Miss. Roach. It has sensed some superb dark spot somewhere. With rash promptness, before exclaiming, “Flash!” it has found a very huge door under the bathroom door and skidded right through it. The direction matters now because it will take time to open the door, so if I'm not careful it will vanish like Prince E…not worth relating. Who heads England, anyway?

It went right; the door swings right but does not open because after many foolish attempts Memory calmly swings the door left. Your head bops in quickly, forgetting that the rest of the body should join in too. It’s a tricky affair, you must be warned. The bathroom was not cleaned yesterday night. Reason? Another bug but of a different kind; the novel. Can’t keep up with emotions rising and falling like fuel prices, the end had to be reached by all means. And now, you cannot recall the preface because it was ignored. See the mess before. Just see it! Who’s to blame, the author or the reader?

Aha…This… has been protected by the National Copyright Society. Therefore, it cannot be claimed or reproduced or used in any print or media…Blah blah blah…prior consent…written permission has been obtained…blah blah blah…Full-stop. You remember something apart from the author’s first name.

It’s not inside the scum and hairs. Neither is it on the wall with the shower knob. Certainly nowhere near the mirror affixed above the sink. Your eyes are fully awake. The other walls are not visible. Heck! My neck can’t turn 360˚ like an owl’s.

You make a quick step into the slimy waters after deliberate consideration that it’s you who spends eternity there most of your me time. If memory serves you right, there was a leaking pipe or a clogging sink which would have been sorted a week ago had it not been for the… ‘lame excuses’.

After you win the game, you will plan your way down the elevator, scuttle across the street in dire need of a cab, all through making up… ‘lame excuses’.