The morning after

Dawn breaks over the battle ground.

Dozens of bodies are strewn about, smashed beyond recognition in a crust of human blood.

I survey the scene: we brought in heavy artillery, but the enemy put up an unrelenting fight. The walls are marked with blood and guts; our own bodies are erupting in welts, bearing signs of heavy fire.

It started as a stealth attack shortly after 10 p.m., but soon their ranks grew to a full blown blitz.

Travis tried the ambush approach, luring the enemy to him then delivering a fatal blow. I went on the offensive attack, seeking out their resting places and walloping them into oblivion.

Sylvia, while still too young to participate in the bloodbath, did her part by presenting herself as a moving target. From lying down to standing to our bed and back to the crib… she kept the enemy guessing as the battle raged all night and into the wee hours…

It’s clear this is a war to be fought in the trenches. No Ultraviolet zapper or oscillating fan is any match for these tenacious opponents.

Even as I type, stalwarts of the foe dive-bomb my bare legs and tangle in my hair, boldly seeking exposed flesh and vein.

We may have lost the battle, but we’ll win the war.

These bloodsuckers only have three weeks to live.

This one won't be bothering anyone again.

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