All I want is food, anything really. They don’t understand us we’re part of life, just like them. They just see us as scuttling, black, evil things, ripe for killing. We try to do our thing and what do we get: death. And on a large scale. Millions of us have died under boot, shoe, heel, spray. A painful death too. We’ve been here longer than them, we always will be. It’s unjust, this cockroach holocaust.
A focused free write as part of my creative writing course.
Categories: Just Stories