Beyond Metamorphosis

I’m doing this on my phone. I have no idea how this will turn out. I pray-as much as any non religious person might-that this works.

I read Metamorphosis way earlier than I was able to understand the metaphor. Loved the story. To me Kafka was a genius. I could relate-not the genius part, I wouldn’t dare but the metaphor. The fucking cockroach. If you know me, you know I’m an amateur elitist. What’s that? You ask-well it’s someone who will never be one but pretends to be one and fuck you for suggesting I’m not. Birth is an unfortunate happenstance sometimes.

***

The thing appeared as they always do-under shield of darkness, scurrying about doing God knows what or why with there ungodly, disgusting lives.

I happened upon the thing pattering across my kitchen counter. I’d just had a shower. I was headed to the kitchen about to rinse out the glass I’d been drinking from—I flipped on the kitchen light and there the hideous creature sit-oh! How to describe it! An engorged flea or mosquito-hungry. Waiting. It was hideous. Black or burnt burgundy; a fly/mosquito/beetle/cockroach conglomeration- and larger than your average cockroach (the most terrifying part). And, when I tell you how this thing reacted to being caught-well, that’s where the horror begins. And my telling of this tale must end for now.

Even though I sprayed the Raid like nobody’s business-thought I got it good too-it would. Not. Die. I heard it spit, spattering, flit fluttering -looking for a safe place to land. Behind the toaster, coffee maker, juicer, microwave. On top. Underneath. When I thought I had him trapped, I thought wrong. The bugger was gone.

Escaped.

But how? I drowned the critter in Raid. Yet it managed to find his way out.

Gone.

Fucking cockroaches. They just don’t know how to die.