Bradley rested as the bug flew; Bradley's eyes moved rapidly as he dreamed. It was perfect, everything he had ever wished had become a reality. He existed on his own private island, rapidly becoming the face of a new era. He had countless fans, a limitless audience. And...

"Bzzz...."

"What the hell was that?" he said groggily, as his eyes slowly opened up. His vision was still blury, but he could not mistake the black amorphous blob that flashed by his vision. "Ugh, damn bugs."

He drifted off to sleep again, but within a few minutes, the bug had begun buzzing past his ear. It had become brave, and was flying all around him, crawling over him. Bradley lept out of bed, wide-eyed and annoyed. "Damn bug!" he shouted as he grabbed a magazine from the nightstand.

"Come here, you little..." He listened. The buzzing had ceased for a moment, but he knew that if he just listened, if he waited, he could track the little insect. After a few breaths, his wait was rewarded.

"Bzzz!"

THWAP!

'Aha! I got you, you little bastard!" He began to dance a victory dance, shaking his fists in the air in triumph. After a moment, he decided to take a look at the mess on the magazine, the signal of his victory. He turned the newspaper to his gaze and found... nothing. He looked at the space where the insect had been, and found the bug, slowly crawling away. He went to hit it again, but before he did, it flew away. He tried to follow it, but the insect proved too fast for him.

"Bastard!" It buzzed away, out of view. The sound it made faded out to nothing, and though he was angry, Bradley shook his head, went to the kitchen, and resumed business as usual.

Business being the usual list of things, Bradley went into the kitchen and got a clean bowl, proceeding to pour himself cereal. He sat at the table, yesterday's newspaper awaiting him on the left corner. This had been the same routine since as far as he could remember, and would always be the routine, as far as he was concerned. His juice would sit at the top left corner of his eating area, and everything was as it should be.

He continued to read the article concerning Hezbollah and the Israeli forces. Although neutral on most issues, he felt strongly for anyone who could listen to a group of people sprouting that they felt an entire nation had no right to exist. So he followed the progress in the hopes that the issue would be resolved peacefully, but knowing that would not happen without at least a recognition of a right to exist. Though the israeli attacks were throttling innocent lives, he understood that--

"Buzzzizzzz!"

I can ignore this, he thought to himself, vowing to ignore the insect to finish his routine.

He flipped the paper to the entertainment section, to see a review of the latest films. He enjoyed filmmaking, and felt that the glamour and glitz of Hollywood was beginning to dilute the true art of storytelling and--

"BZZZZ!"

"Okay, you little turd, you are going down!" He grabbed the newspaper and attempted to follow the sound. He found the little bug crawling on the white floors, and he stared down at it with a smile of power and control. Finally, he was going to get the little bastard!

He walked up slowly, and THWAP! He slammed the newspaper over it, and only when he was certain that he could not miss.

When he lifted the newspaper, he expected to see a smudge on the face of Andre Agassi; the sports section, being the most disposable, had been the first to take the abuse. Yet, when he lifted the paper, he saw, amazingly, the bug, slowly crawling away.

"You little," he began, but finished by stomping his foot onto the bug. He let out a psychotic laugh, and began crushing his foot back and forth, to truly destroy the little thing. When he did so, all he felt was a sharp pang of intense pain, causing him to leap backward off the insect.

When the cursory expletives had been spat, he looked down at the insect and found, incredibly, that the creature was still moving, ever so slowly.

"You little--"

Brad also noticed that he was beginning to be late for work. "I don't have time for this," he said as he watched the bug crawl away. So, he went to work, leaving the creature behind.

When he went to work, the only thing he could think of was the insipid creature that had survived his attacks. Where had the creature come from, the deepest depths of hell? And if so, why now, why to Bradley's quiet household? What did the creature want, did it feed off his garbage? If so, would it leave when he took it out?

The thought occupied his being in a purity of concentration. He found his work to be lacklustre, because all he could think of was the weapon of destruction that would finally solve his problem. He momentarily thought of an exterminator, but what would he tell them? "Um, sir... I would like to hire your services for the sake of one insect."

"Is it a poisonous one?"

"Not that I know of."

"Particularly large?"

"Fairly, but no larger than can be expected, I guess."

Surely, he was not giving the exterminators a fair chance, but he felt silly all the same.

He returned home, tired from a long day's distracted work. He sat down in front of the television, sloped over and half-asleep. He turned on the set and found, once the tube had fully begun to display colors, that there was a black spot on the television whenever light colors came across a certain part.

"It can't be," he muttered, his jaw dropping. He slipped off the couch, toward the part of the screen that would not turn into light colors. His nose was almost to the tube when he saw the bug, crawling on the tube. His teeth began to clench and grind as he realized what he was looking at. But he also realized that he could not simply swat at an expensive electronic device.

He silently whispered to the bug to "stay put," as he marched off to the bathroom. He grabbed a quick wad of toilet paper and came out to the living room. He slowly crept toward the television set, ready to squash the petulant pest slowly and painfully.

There was nothing to be found...

He listened carefully; he wanted to hear that familiar buzz of his prey. It had gone beyond a mere annoyance and had become a mission. He needed to see that insect splattered; its existence had begun to be an insult to his own. He thought he heard a buzz in his bathroom, but when he rushed in, he found nothing.

Before he continued to search, he realized he needed a new weapon. If magazines did not crush the bug, nor did his feet, then he needed a more sturdy object with which to impose upon the creature's shell. He looked around for such an instrument, and was pleased when he found something that, while not necessarily sturdy, would certainly be a more efficient weapon.

He held the spatula tightly in his hands.

"Here, Buggie!"

The buzz was heard. Instead of rushing, he slowly paced toward the sound. It was in his living room again, probably near the television. Perhaps the light had attracted it, or perhaps there was a familiarity about the electronics; Bradley did not care about the creature's motives, he simply cared about its destruction.

"Here, Bugface!"

He crawled slowly toward the television, spatula in hand. He no longer cared whether he destroyed the television set. If need be, he would strike as hard as his arms would allow, sending the bug through shards of glass and blazes of electricity. If that did not kill it, Bradley did not know what would.

Luckily, it did not come to that. The insect crawled off the television set and unto the living room floor. Not willing to risk the cushioning of the carpet saving its life, and sending it on another flight mission, Bradley merely watched the creature as it crawled toward the hard floor. He followed it like a hunter stalks a prey-- with patience and anger, purity and evil.

When the creature finally made it to the hard surface floor, Bradley lunged at it with the spatula. He began striking repeatedly, each strike more violent than the last. Each attack landed directly on the insect, and Bradley continued the bombardment until he physically could attack no longer. He dropped to the ground beside the insect's remains, catching his breath and laughing weakly.

"Finally," he said, as he rested for a moment.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Bradley did not check for the 'gore'. He had grown tired of the repeated process, and decided that if his attacks did not kill the bug, they must certainly have sorely abused it, and who would return for such a beating? Surely, not even a demonic insect would glory in such punishment...

And so he went on the rest of the day, business as usual.

"Ah," he said, as he crawled into bed with his current reading, a book by the name of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by a first-time writer, Susanna Clarke. He had become enthralled by the book's intense sense of historical decency coupled with its fair-play of creative license. It had read to him much like some of the more classical pieces of literature, like George Elliott's Middlemarch, or even Tolstoy's The Cossacks, with a sense of dignity and propriety as well as a dark underlying trouble, a conflict that drived its text with gusto and...

... and then Bradley, thinking of all the texts that he had previously read, and thinking of the comparisons to Susanna Clarke's first book, fell asleep.

The insect had free reign. It crawled around, secure in its safety. Though it had taken a great beating, it still was bold and energetic. So, it creeped from the living room right up until it found the bedroom, and, its antennae flopping in front of it, it crawled under the bed, and made a small nest from the dust it found underneath. It cuddled up to this dust-nest, made a random squeek, and then fell asleep itself.

The next morning, Brad woke with his usual grogginess. He crawled out of bed, spread his wings in a deep stretch, and then made a squeeking noise, which emanated from his stomach. He took a few steps when he heard the sound.

"No..."

"BZZzzzIZZZz!"

"NO!"

Brad rushed out of the room, slightly hyperventilating. He had to think, and fast. This creature had begun taking over his apartment, and he had to defend it. How could he go to sleep tonight, knowing that this insect was crawling around? For all he knew, the bug had come to lay eggs deep inside Brad's flesh, and was merely waiting for the opportunity.

Violence had solved nothing. It had only irritated the insect, or so Brad thought. The demon was after his soul, and wanted him to attack. Perhaps each act of violence was treated with a direct karmic return, and that is what fed the beast and kept it safe!

So what could he do?

And then he thought up a plan. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed a cup. "If I can't kill you, then perhaps I can catch you," he said out loud, slightly losing his grip on reality. "That will keep you away, demon-bug!"

He walked back into the bedroom, but there was no bug to be found. "Come out, Bugface!"

The creature was still sleeping, peacefully, underneath Brad's bed. When Bradley began to call out, the insect slowly aroused itself, and quickly ran out from under the bed. Bradley lunged toward it with the cup, but barely missed as it slipped by.

"You little f---", cursed Brad.

He chased the creature into the kitchen. He looked on the ground. The bug had its back turned, its antennae waving in the air. It had caught a hungry glimpse at a bit of discarded food that had missed the garbage. It stared intensely as Bradley snuck up behind and...

CLUNK!

The creature faught its containment, but it could only climb the glass walls; it found no means of escape. Its captor began to laugh an unstable laughter of the damned. Brad was finally the victor, and it pleased him greatly.

"I have you now." He slipped a piece of paper under the cup and under the bug, so as to complete the trap. He took the cup, insect and all, to the bathroom. He took the insect and threw it into the toilet.

Looking down, he could have sworn he saw the insect crying, and the squeek that the creature made would have had a grizzly man in tears. Brad immediately felt bad for it, but he had no choice. So, he flushed the toilet. He let out a sigh as he walked out of the bathroom.

His life would return to normal. The routine would continue on. What the routine was, on the other hand...

The bug did not want to go to the sewers. It had managed to snag itself on a bit of blockage in the plumbing before being fully flushed. And it crawled out of the toilet as Bradley slept.

The routine would continue, indeed.