The Cockroach War

Its even worse than it sounds.

Even at mid day, the effects of last nights little jubilee has left me cross-eyed with a tired ache. Which made me defenseless against hungers concealed attack. The dagger twisting me somewhere between the stomach and large intestine.

“Thai food” or at lest our version of it, was what linz said was waiting for me at the end of my ride home. So I pedal and dodge between marble rain drops, in a stupidly grey afternoon swagger. The hopeful news of dinner easing my temporary injury.

By the time I arrive, vegetables are haplessly shotgunned across kitchen counters. Linzay, their nemesis, spinning and steaming her way around, floating in colorful Indonesian genie pants.Without effort she looks beautiful.

Eventually, the vegetable pile is gone, sweetly portioned into our neat bowls, and the stack of dishes have grown to consume the counter. We have to be careful, cockroaches will be out at dark, dancing and weaving between the teflon. They are an unavoidable part of life here, both the little baby menaces and the more rare bathroom monsters.

Yesterday, Linzay won the last nightly Killing Game-12-10. Admittedly, it was only because she managed to rangle up a buck worth double points in the last round. Smiling and smashing she yelled “I got ’em!”. Wiping up the roaches is a simple a task as cleaning the counters, which are spotless most the time anyway. Well, unless they’re covered in squished carcasses. Its a cycle we’ve learned to live with.

Tonight, revenge was served in an act of pure terrorism. A courageous and selfless suicide attack.

With the explosion, I saw the blood run out of her face. Somewhere between our first and second serving. With an alarming calmness, she stood up from the table and silently departed to the sink.

She didn’t need to say it. I could feel the knot building in my throat. “Tell me its not a cockroach” I trailed off as I said it, because the truth was retched, awful and ugly.

Slowly, she started to spit the contents of her meal into her hands.

The truth was left on the side of her plate, its legs damp with her saliva. We examined the remains like culinary CSI but the verdict remained the same. Linzay is the killer. “I think I need to brush my teeth”she said “You cant see any more legs in there, can you?” She asked opening her mouth, pointing to her teeth.

1-0. Let the game begin.

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