My Arch-Nemesis Has Four Legs (Code Gecko)

I hate lizards. And geckos. And basically every reptile in this world.

Sometimes I wish they would become extinct. I almost—almost—don’t care how much their extinction would affect the ecosystem because that’s how much I despise them. I know, I know, they’re good for pest control (and, for some reason, apparently vital to life on Earth). But pleeease, if there’s anything I hate in this world, I would scream their name.

When I was a kid, I had this… particularly unique toy. Its surface was flat but textured, creating something that looked like a 3D painting of fish. I loved it. I had a few of them.

One day, while I was lying on the floor (I don’t remember what I was doing exactly, but my guess is… absolutely nothing. Kid me was weird), something under the sofa caught my attention.

“That’s my toy!” I thought.

I crawled toward the sofa and stuck out my hand to grab it. But I got nothing.

The toy suddenly vanished.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t reaching for my toy at all. I was touching a freaking house gecko that had apparently been zoning out under my parents’ freaking sofa.

A freaking house gecko.

It’s safe to say that I completely freaked out. A part of me is convinced I had a minor mental breakdown right then and there. That was the moment my hatred for the reptile familia was born.

Sadly, our nemesis arc didn’t end there. Growing up, I always hated house geckos because they were freaking everywhere. Sometimes they would cling to my bedroom ceiling, making me terrified they would fall on me while I was asleep. (So naturally, I refused to sleep until they had moved at least a few inches away.) Other times they would lounge on my bathroom wall, forcing me to postpone my shower because I really didn’t want to bathe in front of strangers—animals included.

And the worst part?

Just when I thought my boarding house room was finally safe from these cold-blooded monsters, something caught my attention last night.

Something small.

Something black.

And something that freaking crawled.

Yup. There was an unidentified reptile in my room.

My best guess was that it was a baby gecko, but I wasn’t sure.

And I DIDN’T WANT TO BE SURE.

I just wanted it to go away.

GO AWAY.

After the first few seconds of shock wore off, I ran outside, grabbed a broom and a dustpan, and prepared for battle.

I tried to catch it.

But in the few seconds it took me to look away… it disappeared.

It was freaking gone.

Like Cinderella’s fairy godmother.

And I knew it was still in my room. I just knew. Perhaps decades of contempt have forged some strange connection between us (strictly for the purpose of staying as far away from each other as possible, of course). All I wanted to do was cry and scream, “PLEASE SHOW YOURSELF!!!” At least let me keep track of where you are so I can occupy the farthest corner of my room.

But of course, it refused to grant my wish.

As I’m writing this heartfelt account of my absolute disdain for it, I still have no idea where it is. But I’m pretty sure that somewhere in my room, that tiny reptilian menace is waiting for me.

I hate that thought almost as much as I hate geckos.

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