Anyway. It's bed time here, and I noticed that there was a tiny tan-colored something next to my pillow, on the sheet. Kinda looks like a bug leg. I picked it up, held it under the light, and yes. It was a tiny bug let. I'm not as squeamish as I used to be, so I tossed it in the trash. No biggie. But then I remembered tucking my arm under my pillow the night before and feeling something hard, like a little piece of dried leaf or a tiny pebble. Maybe there's another bug leg under there. I'd better check, I told myself. So I lifted the pillow (not even dramatically, I swear), and there was a huge, smothered house centipede, with its legs all curled in, so you know it's dead.
I had slept on it. For how many days? I don't know! I touched it. I killed it. I touched it, and then I woke up and put my contacts in with those hands!
After I gave the body a proper burial, I started to notice how far around the bed some of the little legs had spread. Some of them were as thin as whiskers, so I'm not sure if they were leg parts or something else, but they were the same color.
It was a war zone. The dead were scattered everywhere. Could there have been more than one? No, I tell myself. Absolutely not. There's nothing for them to feed on here. I only get those roly-poly bugs, and nothing else.
As I attempted to pick up all of the pieces, I thought about the poor bug's family. Would they be appreciative of the care I was giving to these remains? And more importantly, have I seen too many Disney movies about bugs?
My sheets are changed, but jeez. Not the best news before bed.
