The Cockroach
by Lee Carrick
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Oblivion on the 15th floor.
_____________________________________________________________________
The deep orange glow of the cigarette, as it burned away in the glass ashtray, was the only light in the room that didn’t belong to the TV. It was two thirty in the morning and Nathan sat in alone in the dark.
A cockroach walked circles around President Obama’s face; it took tours of his eye sockets and walked the lines of the President’s head. It stopped on the end of Barack’s nose and stared straight into his dark eyes as if it recognised a fellow insect but was unsure of its intentions. The antennae on the cockroach’s head moved towards the eyelashes of the President, probing for signs of danger.
Despite the presence of this intrusive creature the President continued to speak into the microphone as if it weren’t there. Nathan could not here what the President was saying; the TV had been muted a long time ago. He could no longer handle the lies and would turn the TV on to mute whenever Mr. Obama appeared. The cockroach, though, continued to walk along the contours of the President’s skin and at one point tried to enter his mouth as he spoke. The President, unflinching, continued.
Nathan picked up the cigarette and took one last drag before extinguishing it. He blew the thick smoke from his lungs and towards the light of the TV, temporarily covering the President’s face and the cockroach. He took a sip of the warm beer beside him. When the smoke had cleared the cockroach had gone. Nathan continued to watch in silence and solitude.
As quiet as the night may have been, there was no quiet in the mind of Nathan. His mind hadn’t been quiet since he had returned from the Middle East. He was plagued by the noises in his head, the screaming, the explosions and the cries for help. His dreams were haunted by the sight of dying children in the arms of their dead mothers and the smell of rotting and burning flesh. He longed for his mind to be as silent as the room.
The cockroach reappeared on the President’s face. This time he danced around the President’s head. It appeared to be a courtship ritual; the cockroach had a found a member of its own species, a powerful member, and it wanted to mate. A male of this stature was an opportunity not to be missed for the young cockroach. She danced from forehead to chin, cheek to cheek, eye to eye and ear to ear, and yet Mr. Obama was uninterested in the sexual advances of the cockroach, he continued to speak into the black microphone as if she weren’t there.
As Nathan watched the sexual dance of the insect and the Presidential disinterest, he wondered why the cockroach was so attracted to him. A few minutes later the cockroach, disheartened by the President’s nonchalance, moved away from the President’s face and sat still on his shoulder.
Nathan could no longer sit in the empty, silent room or live in his crowded head. He needed a release from the pain. He desperately wanted the screaming to stop, the images to become vague and the smells to dissipate. He rose from his chair and headed towards his bedroom. He picked up his 9mm and a box of Valium and returned to his chair. The President was receiving a round of applause; the cockroach was still on his shoulder.
Nathan turned the TV off, much to the disappointment of the cockroach which left immediately to return to its foraging on the floors of Nathan’s 15th floor apartment. It returned to the water pipes a little while later.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Oblivion on the 15th floor.
_____________________________________________________________________
The deep orange glow of the cigarette, as it burned away in the glass ashtray, was the only light in the room that didn’t belong to the TV. It was two thirty in the morning and Nathan sat in alone in the dark.
A cockroach walked circles around President Obama’s face; it took tours of his eye sockets and walked the lines of the President’s head. It stopped on the end of Barack’s nose and stared straight into his dark eyes as if it recognised a fellow insect but was unsure of its intentions. The antennae on the cockroach’s head moved towards the eyelashes of the President, probing for signs of danger.
Despite the presence of this intrusive creature the President continued to speak into the microphone as if it weren’t there. Nathan could not here what the President was saying; the TV had been muted a long time ago. He could no longer handle the lies and would turn the TV on to mute whenever Mr. Obama appeared. The cockroach, though, continued to walk along the contours of the President’s skin and at one point tried to enter his mouth as he spoke. The President, unflinching, continued.
Nathan picked up the cigarette and took one last drag before extinguishing it. He blew the thick smoke from his lungs and towards the light of the TV, temporarily covering the President’s face and the cockroach. He took a sip of the warm beer beside him. When the smoke had cleared the cockroach had gone. Nathan continued to watch in silence and solitude.
As quiet as the night may have been, there was no quiet in the mind of Nathan. His mind hadn’t been quiet since he had returned from the Middle East. He was plagued by the noises in his head, the screaming, the explosions and the cries for help. His dreams were haunted by the sight of dying children in the arms of their dead mothers and the smell of rotting and burning flesh. He longed for his mind to be as silent as the room.
The cockroach reappeared on the President’s face. This time he danced around the President’s head. It appeared to be a courtship ritual; the cockroach had a found a member of its own species, a powerful member, and it wanted to mate. A male of this stature was an opportunity not to be missed for the young cockroach. She danced from forehead to chin, cheek to cheek, eye to eye and ear to ear, and yet Mr. Obama was uninterested in the sexual advances of the cockroach, he continued to speak into the black microphone as if she weren’t there.
As Nathan watched the sexual dance of the insect and the Presidential disinterest, he wondered why the cockroach was so attracted to him. A few minutes later the cockroach, disheartened by the President’s nonchalance, moved away from the President’s face and sat still on his shoulder.
Nathan could no longer sit in the empty, silent room or live in his crowded head. He needed a release from the pain. He desperately wanted the screaming to stop, the images to become vague and the smells to dissipate. He rose from his chair and headed towards his bedroom. He picked up his 9mm and a box of Valium and returned to his chair. The President was receiving a round of applause; the cockroach was still on his shoulder.
Nathan turned the TV off, much to the disappointment of the cockroach which left immediately to return to its foraging on the floors of Nathan’s 15th floor apartment. It returned to the water pipes a little while later.
About the Author
Lee Carrick is in his twenties. Originally from South Shields, he now lives in Edinburgh. His biggest passions in life are writing and travelling, and he likes to combine the two. He has been writing poetry since he was 15, but only recently began to write fiction. He was inspired to write by Ian Banks' The Wasp Factory and Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors. The Care Home, his first novella, is a McStorytellers publication.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.