Wipeout
July 18th, 2020
Starring: Exterm
Exterm wears a beige jumpsuit with a company patch stitched over the breast. They carry some sort of sprayer:
EXTERM
I engage in genocide.
Nobody notices.
I blend in with the riff raff, get welcomed into homes, pay my taxes, take the occasional vacation.
But I kill things.
I do not prey on a particular kind. I kill whatever I am asked to kill. And I am very good at it.
I kill things, but I am not a killer.
Killing is a temporary verb. Not for those being killed, but on a universal level, one killing is quite insignificant. A death is simply a loose end, an invitation for new beginnings.
My goal is to end beginnings. Not hack off leaves, but upheave roots. Finite destruction.
Wipeout. No job’s done until nothing comes back.
But they do. They always do. They are smarter and more resilient. They have strength and communication we do not. And there are many more of them than there are us.
They will always come back. For now, that makes me important.
But the more I commit mass-murder, the more I know my goal is unattainable.
For every little thing I squash beneath me, I prolong the inevitable.
That someday, maybe soon, I will be wiped out, along with the rest of us. And they will keep on.
And they will crawl in through my walls and up through my floor and down through my ceiling and live like kings inside the very home I once infested.
That whole concept keeps me sort of grounded.