The Battle of the Cockroach and the Brave(-ish) Maiden

It was turning out to be just another evening in the dorm. I was in the middle of writing a paper on the (utterly exciting) connections between the American Revolution and the American Baptist mindset when I realized that I hadn't eaten dinner yet and was beginning to get a little hungry. So I got myself a bowl and a can of spagettios, tracked down a can opener, and prepared to cook my meager rations in the laundry room microwave. The timer had just beeped, and I was beginning to take my dinner out of the microwave, when suddenly I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. It was a huge cockroach, at least 3 inches long, running like the wind straight towards me. With a scream of terror I abandoned my food and leaped up on top of the washing machine. I made sure it was nowhere on me, and then scanned the surrounding area. The cockroach was nowhere in sight. Fearful for my life, I grabbed the only weapon within reach: the broom. I banged it around for a few minutes, hoping to scare the cockroach from its hiding place so that I would at least know its location, but nothing happened. I figured that I would just have to sit on the washer wait for help. Before long, however, the cockroach appeared on its own, out of nowhere. Like a flash of brown, gross-looking lightning, it sped towards my laudry basket, which was sitting on the floor, and climbed up. I squealed and hit it with my broom, praying with all of my might that it wasn't a flying cockroach. It didn't fly, but it did scuttle over to a position on the wall. I hit it again, shrieking as I did so, and sent it back towards the door, where it again disappeared. So, I was back to square one, trapped on a washing machine by a cockroach with an unknown location. I grasped the broom handle even harder and looked around to make sure it hadn't ingeniously snuck up behind me through the little crack between the machine and the wall. I prayed and prayed that somebody would come and rescue me. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my friend Clarissa walked by. I called her name from my perch on the machine, and she looked a little startled to see where I was sitting, but then I asked her if there was a cockroach hiding around the corner. She shook her head and said, "There's one on the wall out here, though. It's huge!" "Oh, thank goodness!" I said, as I climbed down off of the washing machine. I still clutched the broom, just in case it wasn't the same cockroach and he had laid a trap for me in the doorway. But nothing happened, and I made it out safely, with my bowl of spaghettios. Sure enough, there he was, my arch-nemesis of the moment, sitting on the wall looking as innocent as a butterfly. Clarissa and I - well, mostly Clarissa - then proceeded to try and kill the villainous bug with a dustpan, but he managed to crawl up on to the ceiling and out of our reach. So we called in the last resort: Clarissa's boyfriend, Josh. We handed him the dustpan, and with one blow he smote down the cockroach, and with another he ended the conniving creature's life. Clarissa and I cheered, and as I dragged my dinner and my laundry basket down the hallway back to my room, I thanked them both profusely for rescuing me from the most nightmarish monster that I had ever faced; that is, until I met the wood roaches. But that's another story.