christopherslack

Nemesis
By Christopher Slack

To have a nemesis is to have an archrival, a being that in your eyes surpasses all other evil known. I had such a rival for three weeks of my life. He taunted me from where he stood, continually staring into the darkest depths of my soul, finding my weaknesses, opening me up for the world to see. He scared me in away that no one else has since. He sat there in his inch and a half of glory, stuck to the comer of the room at the top of the stairs. His eight spindly legs could carry him so fast if he wished, but instead he sat there always staring.
The first time he appeared to me I didn't give him a second thought, assuming I would strike him down later. After a few days of this I realised he was something different, he never made a move, or a web, he just sat there. I screamed at him but he didn't budge. I dared not to attack him for only someone with a good trick up their sleeves stands their ground in the face of such danger. So I backed off, but I knew he had to go.
Day after day he was there, staring at me. He was watching me, finding out my routine, planning my destruction, but I was too smart for him I would get him before he got me. There was no way around it one of us had to go. After school one day I I~r grabbed a magazine and marched up the stairs to vanquish him. Basically the plan was to crush him. It seemed a good idea at the time at least. I reached the top of the stairs to find him in his usual place in the comer. He spotted me instantly, but that did not waver me. Cautiously I moved towards him. Finding he was scarier up close I rolled up the magazine and brought it up over my head. I believe I was two feet away when I let my arm fly like a spring-loaded catapult. It flew through the air. During its flight his will to stand firm scared me. I let off a little of the speed� missed, slightly. Smacking the wall with that wet smack magazines give, something black fell to the ground. I didn�t have time to aim or find him for I did not know whether or not he had out the trick up his sleeve into action. I pounded the floor blindly with my fists. Eventually I gave in to tiredness. I scanned the floor, no remains came to eye. Reluctantly I left the battlefield
That night I went into my room with an uneasy calm. I dressed into my pyjamas and hung my clothes up in the wardrobe. And then above my wardrobe he clung to the ceiling, ready for vengeance. Two of his legs were crushed from the previous attack. I reeled back, my hand closed around a ruler on my bedside table. Quickly, I jumped on my bed, bounced off it, glided through the air and scraped the roof with the ruler. He fell from the roof, hit the door and landed on the cold wooden floor in my room. His legs curled in. He couldn't have been dead; he was faking it, that's what he was doing. Determined I leapt forward bringing down the ruler as hard as I could, shattering it and my ring finger. The pain was immense. Despite it I had to know whether he was dead or not. I looked at his broken body surrounded by shards of plastic that had the broken letters of shatterproof on them. In spite of the pain I was in I was filled with a need to laugh but I didn't.
Returning from hospital, I ascended the stairs gracefully. But there, in the corner was my nemesis. His body was torn and cut, but still he stood firm. I was horrified by his stubbornness to die. I took a few steps back and found that the stairs were closer to me than I had thought, way closer. In fact so close that I stumbled down them. I rolled over and over my limbs flailing in the air .
I landed on my back at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing was broken. However, I was badly bruised and beaten. I lay down there a while planning his defeat. Half an hour later I got up and went about my daily business. I knew exactly what I was going to do but I would wait for a week to let his wounds weaken him.
The day of reckoning arrived. I gathered all my equipment and rose up the stairs. As I walked my legs felt like lead and lifting them became a chore. I got two steps from,,""' the top and sat down deciding this was a fair distance. ..1 put down all my equipment.
First, I picked up four sheets of flypaper with playing darts skewered through the top. I aimed carefully. I had practised all week, and let it fly. It hit where the skirting board and the carpet joined right under where he was. The next three hit their targets. Now the floor under him was carpeted with flypaper. Next, I got a fishing rod, braced myself and swiped him off the wall. Half way through his fall he connected to the roof by web and began to climb up. I was prepared, I expertly threw a Frisbee and cut his life line. He plummeted and struck the flypaper. I then rose up took a spatula out of my pocket ran at him and crushed him with it.

"Ha ha!" I screamed, "You're done for!" I put my foot on the paper and ripped the spatula from it. "Yes you've been defeated!" I was filled with glee. I jumped up and down shouting, "1 am the champion" in tune with the song. And then I looked down at the remains of my nemesis and was just pleased more.

Now, ten years later, when I look at his remains on the flypaper, which I have given a frame above my mantelpiece, I think I really should have washed that spatula.