In everything the universe stands for, why on earth do roaches have wings? I genuinely can’t wrap my head around why an insect as disgusting and downright wicked as a cockroach should also have the ability to fly. Who approved that design?
So I got home from the hospital with my preggie sister, sick, full of anxiety and also starving. But the moment I switched on the lights in the room, I froze. There, lying comfortably on my bed as though it paid rent, was a roach. Already irritated by its audacity, I dropped my bag and marched into the kitchen to grab a broom. Justice had to be served.
My plan was to sweep it off the bed first because I didn’t want it to leave its bad smelling ink on my sheets, then crush it. But the moment I raised the broom, this shameless creature became offended that I had interrupted its beauty sleep. It started darting all over the bed like it owned the place.
Growing more agitated, I remembered that humanity was supposedly given dominion over every creeping thing. So, I swung. As I lifted the broom to confirm the execution was successful, the roach flew.
I don’t think words can accurately describe the terror that gripped me. The buzzing of its wings as it circled the room was enough to send my soul on a brief vacation. I collapsed dramatically onto the floor in complete surrender, silently begging that it wouldn’t land on my head. Terrified doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Meanwhile, this menace was putting on an aerial display like it had something to prove. Thankfully, its performance was short-lived because it made one fatal mistake by landing on the wall.
I got back on my feet, summoned every ounce of courage I had left, and slammed the broom against the wall with the force of someone avenging generations. Victory was mine. But I’m still not over it.
I genuinely dread cockroaches. The sight of one instantly makes my skin crawl, and if it flies? That’s no longer a pest, that’s a full-blown horror movie.
