ICK: A True Story

I was back from a two-week vacation, preparing for my first day back to work.
I put my boots on and grabbed my bag.

I stepped back.
I thought I stepped on my cat’s tail.
When I checked, they’re no where near me.

I continued walking.
What was that?

I did not step on anything for sure.
Unless it’s in my shoe.

I remembered a colleague. She was walking to work when she felt something inside her shoe.
She thought it was a candy wrapper.
When she removed it, a cockroach went out.

Alright, that doesn’t help. I hate roaches.

A few months ago, a typhoon was forecasted to enter the country.
That night, the roaches went crazy. I think I killed about 10 in a couple of hours.
I think like Bryan Mills in Taken. I will find and kill you all roaches!
I felt like Rambo holding a machine gun, but mine were insecticides.

Back to my story…
I was nervous.
I’m so sure it was inside my shoe.

When it moved again, I panicked.
I stomped on my own foot.
I lost count how many times I did.
I did not care if I cripple myself.
I just want it dead.

I slowly untied my shoelace and pulled the strings to be loose enough.
Then I quickly removed my shoe and threw it away from me.
Nothing went out.

I grabbed a stick and poked it.
Nothing went out.

I slowly walked towards my shoe.
I held it away from me before I turned it upside down.
It fell.
A mouse!
No blood, but squeezed.

In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Embrace the Ick
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