It bugged her

It’s better that you left, really. … she said to the cockroach that was just making a dangerous turn on the corner of her living room.
She hated committing murder, but what she hated even more was trespassing. And bugs. Sometimes she’d turn her head, blind to the whole thing, and sometimes she’d become this abominable Sunday killer.

Survival of the fittest? Not really. You see little buddy, she told to the unwanted guest in her sight… on the food chain, I am the one holding the credit card.

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