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SHERWOOD, TN An intense battle is currently taking place in the Sherwood home of H. Frederick Macy.
Just last week, an army descended upon Macy’s home. “I can hear them at night. I’ve been lying awake all night. Every night. They won’t let me sleep. I know they’re out there, but they refuse to make themselves seen,” said Macy.
But yesterday the war began. One of Macy’s enemies made his way into the open.
Macy was doing some cleaning when he first saw him. All in black. His round body. His long, thin legs. He scurried gracefully across the floor, partially hidden behind a chair. But Macy heard him. He turned and looked his enemy right in the eye.
He was forced to act. So he lunged and attacked. The victory was his. His enemy defeated. He felt a powerful peace. He marveled at the silence. He had won. No longer would he have to listen to those maddening sounds in the middle of the night.
But it was only a matter of a few hours—when Macy was watching television—until he realized that there was a whole army lying in wait. There was another enemy combatant, identical to the first. Macy caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. And there he was: hidden behind a coffee table.
Afraid to make any hasty steps, Macy moved slowly. He kneeled and crawled a bit closer. And then he looked his silent enemy in the eye. They stared each other down. But his enemy was swift, and he escaped effortlessly.
Macy ran after the intruder, but he was already gone.
So the battle continues. Macy has become obsessed with victory—with destroying his enemies, no matter how many of them there are.
And until the day when he finally vanquishes his foes, he will lie awake at night, listening to them. Hearing their high-pitched chirping. Their constant rubbing together of their little black legs.
“Those darn crickets are driving me insane. I won’t rest until every last one has been flushed down my toilet.”
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