War of the Roaches (Part 4): V day

The carnage was immense and I knew from the moment I opened the bathroom floor that victory was ours. A carpet of cockroaches stretched from the door to the drain, a crunchy shagpile of exo-skeletons, legs pointing upwards. They had returned enmasse in the middle of the night to finally drive us out of our minds, but they hadn’t reckoned on our defenses. The spray did all the damage. They didn’t even get as far as the vegas roach trap or the greased bed legs. The stronger ones, almost inevitably the larger ones, made it to the door. The weaker ones gave up almost immediately. I like to think that the smarter ones turned back, but I’ll never be sure.

Since the massacre, they haven’t bothered us. We hear the odd scratching, hurriedly turn on the light, but I think these murmerings are in our heads and no more than the scars of war, of which there are many. The spray we used has had a dramatic affect on Mark. He sits next to me now as I write, hairless from head to toe, shaking and shivering. He doesn’t speak to me much now, but when he tries to form a few words, drool spilling down his chin, I take him to mean the price was worth it. We now live in the sun, free from the shadow of darkness.