A Cricket Maddening

twasn’t an absence of belief in hexes or voodoo ****, black magic, witches or warlocks, which brought to mind the maddening of the crickets, for 900 species of those sinister gryllidae couldn’t be wrong & they came anyway--- chirping their nocturnal nonsense & forcing the writer to rack her brain, as all she wanted was to keep the mental pedal to the metal & yet, nature allows no rest for the proverbial wicked--- with said writer being the type who would stick it out to the last moment of supposed sanity, she finally snapped! not being able to get a word down because of those damn crickets, not being able to get a sentence down because of those goddamned crickets, not being able to get a paragraph down (with a deadline at hand) in the middle of the goddamned morning, amidst the noise pollution just outside her window, all because of those god****ingdamned crickets!!! so swiftly, like the wing’s flap of the most eloquent great bird which comes to mind, she jumped from her seat & went to the gun cabinet--- there, she kept a bb gun, a fashionable revolver that once having the CO2 capsule popped in, looked menacing enough (she felt) to fend off an intruder, whilst at the same time, it didn’t really infringe upon her stance on gun control. with this, she went outside, bb gun in hand & started blazing away without any real notion that what she commenced would put any dent in the insanity that these goddamned crickets had manifested upon her & as the chirping sounds did not & would not cease, she dropped to her knees after her bb gun was empty, weeping, sobbing & slobbering tears & spit all over herself, curled up in a fetal position right out there in her back yard, submitting herself to the servitude of the insects at hand.