Pests

I spare no more love for bugs than for those godless neighbors of mine, the Midgleys. Neither of ‘em ain’t worth killin’; better avoided. But when that space rock plowed a furrow crosswise through my bean field? No avoidin’ that.

S’pose it’s some kinda meteor, but it coulda been a cow pie seein’ it was covered in creepy-crawlers. Bigger than beanstalks if they was an inch, with more mouths than Beelzebub.

I doused ‘em in pesticide—the outlawed kind. Reckon they took my meaning, ‘cause them suckers scurried lickity-split toward the Midgley place. God help ‘em.

The bugs, that is.

Notes: This is a drabble, or a story of exactly 100 words. I’m posting drabbles for the entire month of December.