I have taken out almost all of the termites by myself, with my little shooter and my quick wit. That is how it goes in my mind anyway. In reality, I am sitting here, a scared little boy, trying not to cry while these huge termites surround my lab, and try to take me as their prisoner, as I slowly slip into madness while waiting for the pest control Melbourne crew to finally reach the lab. I know what these termites want; I am the one that made them. I am the one that made them what they are, and who they are. I am both their creator and their failure. I think that a lot of fathers feel this way sometimes, if not all the time. It’s hard to see something you created go so horribly. You start out with great, lofty, grand, pure intentions, and then it slowly starts to turn against you, as you make compromise after compromise, until it becomes something that you can’t recognise anymore. Your children become nothing more than monsters. I don’t want to live with this guilt anymore. Once the termites Melbourne crew get done with them, I want to leave. I don’t want to stay here and be reminded of what happens when good intentions send one straight to heck. I just want to get it over with. I want to leave, and I want to take a holiday. I don’t want to stay in this building, in this town, on this continent. I want to head south, into the lands beyond the south, beyond the Heron coast of Searin, and further on. I’ve never been there before, but I hope that it’s a quiet life. I also hope that the pest inspections Melbourne crew get here before the termites do. I don’t know what they will do to me.