I did this.
The earwig writhes in the clear water, his mangled antennae frantically prodding the air, making obscene gestures over his broken body. Meanwhile, the tissue used to safeguard my attack floats placidly next to him, holding up severed appendages for his consideration.
Downstairs, my mother calls me to lunch. I move to reply, but all I can do is stand silently over my victim, wondering how many times I had smashed such creatures and recoiled at their splattered remains, only to discard the carnage with a gentle push of the handle.
I did this, I think again, and flush.