A pair of legs and hands. Two eyes, ears and nostrils. One mouth. One anus. A dangling reproductive organ cum urinary tract. Hirsute. The cockroach summed him up through its myriad mosaic eyes. Its antennae figured what he had for dinner last night from the traces of the fart that had escaped from his rear. He tried to ignore the arthropod that can outlive him in a nuclear holocaust. He hummed a popular tune hoping that the ultrasound waves might goad the insect to retreat into its hole. But it just sat there nonchalantly waving its antennae. What if it is a mutant that sees me as a receptacle for its eggs? What if it is a decepticon? What if it's my reborn grandpa? He was immobilized by his fears when the power went off. A silent scream escaped his throat. He felt a million cockroach legs on him. He heard cockroaches whizz past his ears laughing at his manhood. Cockroaches? Was there an army of them lying in ambush? He screamed with all his might till everyone in the apartment knew about the man who is scared of cockroaches.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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