Bugs that Crunch

To remind myself that I am not a bulimic, I am Emily, I am posting stuff that's not related to my eating disorder. Yesterday I wrote a short story, and I'm proud of it so I'm sharing it here! 
It's really nice to have proof that you're a person. A person that does interesting activities. 

Blork enjoyed killing bugs. He often spent hours outside in the vast expanse of his back yard with his gamma-ray glass, searching amidst the craggles for things to fry. If he found something he would observe it for a little while, then pick up the squirming thing between his fingers and triangulate the gamma beam, zapping the but out of existence.

                 He didn’t dislike bugs. On the contrary, he found the fascinating. There were eight-legged ones that scurried sideways, six-legged ones that never seemed to run out, no matter how many you killed, giant four-legged ones with pinchy grey skin that made a noise like a blastoob, and two-legged ones that made a satisfying crunch if you smushed one under your foot.

                 “For heaven’s sake, leave it alone,” his mother would often tell him. She was a peace activist, and Blork knew it hurt her, killing things. She also didn’t much like waiting for him to kill all the bugs in his path if they were on their way to somewhere important, like Office Max.

                 Blork’s father was a scientist, and was always trying to get him to learn something from the experience.

                 “Don’t stomp on it! We can catch it and stick a pin through its heart and dissect it instead. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

                 Blork just wanted to kill things.

                 One day Blork came home from school to find his mother irate with her seven arms folded across her chest.

                 “Your father’s going to have a fit,” she snapped.

                 “Why, did his proposal get rejected again?”

                 His proposals were always getting rejected.

                 “Don’t play dumb with me. Where did you put them?”

                 “Put what?”

                 “Your father’s bug-collecting pins!”

                 Blork blinked.

                 “Fine. Go to your room!”

                 Blork slowly climbed the stairs, more confused that angry. He hadn’t, of course, taken his father’s pins.

                 “I’m going to Office Man, and but the time I get back, those pins had better be back on the bug board, or you’re getting a leg pulled off!” his mother called from downstairs.

                 Blork grimaced. Legs took a while to regrow.

                 Banished to his room, Blork lay on his bed and stared dully at the ceiling. He had no homework and all his toys were downstairs. What to do, what to do… Suddenly he heard a faint rapping noise.

                 “Hello?”

                 There was a brief silence, then the rapping started up again. It sounded as if it were coming from…

                 Blork tuned his ears and then headed toward his bathroom. The tapping got louder as he approached, and he pushed back the door, apprehensive as to what he would find.

                 The sight was horrifying. Thousands upon thousands of bugs were swarming everywhere- on the sink, the toilet rim, the bathtub. Not to mention that they all seemed to be sporting weapons.

                 “Fire!!”

                 His father’s pins came flying at him from every angle. Tiny balls of flame were catapulted at his face by bugs with rubber bands. Bugs fell out of the sky and landed in his hair, ripping it out by the roots.

                 Not surprisingly, Blork screamed and ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

                 “I’m afraid this happens even to the best of us,” said the exterminator, clutching his gamma fumigation tubes. “The best way to squelch an uprising it to just blast the whole place,” continued the man. “If you’re alright with it.”

                 “Well, I suppose it has to be done,” sighed Blork’s mother.

                 “Try to save my pins if you can. Those aren’t cheap,” said Blork’s father.

                 The exterminator nodded.

                 “How much?”

                 “Five hundred.”

                 “For this??”

                 “If you want them all gone…”

                 “Fine. Honey, we’d better go to Office Max again.”

                 Blork trailed behind the exterminator as he trudged upstairs to the scene of the infestation.

                 “Hey, cheer up kid,” the man said, noticing Blork’s glum expression. “They won’t bother you again.”

                 Blork frowned. “I just don’t want them in my hair.”

                 “Oh. Well you know they won’t be gone forever, right? These little guys are resilient as hunkpot. I swear, if our race ever goes extinct they’ll be running the planet in five years.”

                 The exterminator noticed Blork eyeing his gamma tubes.

                 “Tell you what. You can help if you want.”

                 “Really??”

                 “Really. And we can even save a few for you if you put them in a plastic container. And don’t tell your parents.”

                 Blork smiled. He could already hear the magical sound of the crunch beneath his feet.