Killing season is here

Here’s the season where killing is not wanted but inevitable. I kill for my survival (very dramatic version it is). I don’t enjoy this killing season but I have no choice (perhaps). I can’t ignore the existence that tampers with my precious bananas and neither can I ignore the one that sucks my blood while I’m in my heaven in my dreams.

I can hear the electrically frying sound of killing from the blue-light-spreading trap in the living room and the racket I swing half-awake. I feel bad about killing, yet at the same time I feel this slight joy at the fact that I’m the one who survives.

Unfortunately, and sadly, the killing season is here.