Walking to my room terribly weighed down by the heavy mess bill in my hand, I muttered to myself to put it on my table and forget it till further notice. But then I was roused from my not-so-conscious state when I felt a momentary stir on the table, like a speck of dust flying from amidst my books towards my coffee mug. Only that it was not flying but crawling fast, so conspicuous on my pink table cloth. An inch long dark devil. An involuntary shriek escaped my mouth and I swiftly armed myself into defense mode. And by what followed, I knew that we both shared a common emotion- Fear. Battle ensued. It first jumped onto my MLA Handbook coveting a hideout and soon realizing its uselessness, traversed from Faulkner to Peter Barry to Miller and Hemingway, all standing tall and unmoved. By then I was armed with my ruler and a broom (both utterly pointless) only to find it snuggled between the ever-treacherous bulk that is History of English Literature and Fantasies of Femininity! We played cat and rat for some more time except that the roles were reversed and it kept dodging all my moves, visibly enjoying my pitiable state. Maybe it was my imploring eyes, or my desperate religious chants or more realistically the sword in my hand that made magic. It jumped onto the window sill from the battle ground, leaving for outer territory. And now, like an outcast gives me sly glances lurking behind the wooden midriff of the window waiting for a slack in my attention to regain its regality.