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Short story: <i>The Exterminator</i>

From my lofty height I stare down at the seething masses.

I scorn them, and their infinitesimal brains, their worker-bee mentalities, their scurrying self importance. Some of them meander slowly, but most march mechanically, like androids. They have no spirit, no will to live, no individuality.

I double-check the cannisters.

I'm not going to give warning. I'm not trying to make a statement, except to myself. I'm not trying for fame, or to make the local paper, or to meet with the township, spaghetti-western-showdown style.

My purpose is to burn and destroy that nest of mediocrity and mindless obedience and stupid order for order's sake.

I grab a cannister in each hand, stride purposefully into the back yard, and head towards the ant colony.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: meander, showdown, double-check, burn, and nest.

Image courtesy of Martin LaBar.

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