Picture this, okay?

You’re living your cozy little bat-cave dream. The lights are off, the curtains are shut, you’re cocooned in a mountain of blankets, sipping your drink of choice in complete peace.

Life is good.

Then, for whatever godforsaken reason, you decide to turn on the kitchen light.

The instant that bulb flickers on…

A MILLION FUCKING FRUIT FLIES SPAWN FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL.

I’m not exaggerating.

They materialize out of thin air like they’ve been waiting behind the drywall for their cue. One second the kitchen is empty, the next it’s a biblical plague.

What the hell.

WHAT THE HELL.

What ancient curse have I accidentally awakened? What sins have I committed to deserve this uniquely horrifying punishment?

I swear there had to be at least four hundred fruit flies.

Four. Hundred.

There is simply no way a normal household can produce that many. They had to have unionized. They had to have a government. There were enough of them to qualify as a small municipality.

Every time I killed one, three more appeared. I wasn’t fighting insects anymore—I was fighting a losing war against nature itself.

I don’t even understand where they come from.

You can scrub the kitchen until it sparkles, take the garbage out, hide every piece of fruit like it’s in witness protection, and somehow these tiny bastards still find a way. They emerge from dimensions unknown, fueled entirely by spite.

If fruit flies have one talent, it’s making you question your own sanity.

One minute you’re making a cup of tea.

The next you’re standing in the middle of your kitchen, wildly clapping at the air like you’ve completely lost your mind.

But as of writing this, I am slowly winning the war with apple cider vinegar as my weapon of choice.

Wish me luck.