Pest Control

“Hey, you!”

Zach suddenly realised it was a lone living cockroach standing up on his hind legs on the carpet.

He stared at it in disbelief.

Was he high? He hadn’t even lit the bong yet, so maybe it was the chemicals from the pesticide giving him hallucinations or something. Had he come back too early maybe?

Zach had returned to the house half a day after letting off the roach bomb.

Moments ago he had been lying on the grass in the park, revelling in the great outdoors. Marvelling over a yellow ladybug who landed briefly on his fingernail. Thinking about the simpler times, before man invented money and all the shit that came with it. Like cities that crowded out and killed off the animal life (while the irony that he was killing off the inconvenient life forms in his home, at that very moment, was not lost on him at all).

The fumigation smell had lingered when he came back into the house, the furniture (and other clutter) all shrouded under plastic sheeting. (He couldn’t find the energy to cleanup much beforehand so instead he’d had the genius idea to just cover over the mess and do it afterwards).

Zach was given no choice but to deal with the cockroach infestation in the most extreme measures he could afford. They had colonised just about every part of his house now and it was territory that needed to be reclaimed.

Furthermore, his landlord would doing an inspection in two days. And, okay, maybe the landlord was his dad, but Zach just did not need any more heat from the man right now.

His dad was already on his ass about getting a job, and finishing his degree, and joining a gym and getting in shape. And making the house presentable enough to get a room mate willing to pay rent to live in it with Zach. His father had instructed him to “stop being so goddamn useless!”, basically.

He had also had accused Zach of being a perpetual failure to punish him for his failures as a father. Regurgitating his latest therapist’s psychobabble, obviously. (Hell, his father was probably sleeping with this one, too. He had form for that, afterall).

Honestly, Zach thought his father was looking for an excuse to kick him out just to ‘make a man’ of him. At times it was tempting to let him. At least that way he would be spared the ‘when I was your age” lecture series, but the very thought of going back to couch surfing made him tired. Really tired.

Zach had just walked back into the lounge room, flopped into the couch and unwrapped his bong to take a hit on it before he got to work cleaning up in earnest. (Or, at least that’s what he had told himself).

He was raising it to his lips when he stopped dead, alarmed by a tiny voice that seemed to be calling out to him from somewhere in the room.

“Hey, you!”

It was a cockroach … speaking. He gaped at it in amazement.

“Hey!! I’m talking to you!!” screeched the cockroach.

“Okay.” said Zach, dazed. “What’s up?”

“What’s up??” said the cockroach incensed. “What’s up?!? You have murdered my entire family, along with my whole community. Everyone I have ever cared about in my life! That’s what’s up”.

Zach fumbled to spark his lighter, then took a long hit on his bong. He needed to be more stoned for this conversation, man, a lot more stoned.

“I want to know why.” demanded the cockroach. “Why do you hate us so much?”

Zach sank into the couch like he was made of jelly. The fuck? he thought. He did not need this right now. He was in absolutely no fit state to have to this conversation. How did he become the one who suddenly needed to answer for all of mankind’s sins? Why was he the one who had to bear responsibility for the cruelty of human civilization?

“Hey!! I asked you a question!” yelled the cockroach. “Or are you too much or a coward to answer it?”

Zach sighed deeply.

“It’s not personal, man. I have to get rid of the spiders and mice and ants and termites, too.” he explained.

The cockroach stretched its wings out in fury. “Well, I can’t speak for the mice, or the spiders, or the ants, or the termites, but this is pretty fucking personal to me!”

Zach felt guiltily, thinking back on the ladybug in the park.

“I’m sorry, it’s just … this is my house. So you can’t live here.” he said.

The cockroach mused on this. “What makes it your house? Did you build it?”

Zach was flustered. “No, but I own it - or my dad does, at least.”

“Says who?” said the cockroach.

“Says human beings, the ones currently in charge of this planet.” Zach replied, testily.

“What?” said the cockroach, incredulous. “According to who??”

Zach stared at the cockroach then shook his head.

“Look, it’s my house.” he said bluntly.

“Well, why couldn’t we live in it with you?” asked the cockroach. “What was the problem? We hid in the dark. You barely even had to know we were there most of the time.”

“Are you kidding me? I could hear you guys scuttling around all night sometimes. It was driving me insane.” said Zach, annoyed.

“Oh, really?” scoffed the cockroach. “Mr Death Metal for the whole street to hear at 2am - whose neighbours may very well be crowdfunding a hit on him as we speak - he was bothered by the noise we made! Couldn’t you just have bought some earplugs?!”

“It’s not just that! You’re dirty, too.” protested Zach.

“This coming from a guy who has worn the same T-shirt for the last ten days and hasn’t showered for at least three of them?” said the cockroach snottily.

“And you’re creepy!” Zach barked.

“The teenage barista you keep trying to hit on at Starbucks might not think we have the monopoly on that particular quality, my dude.” said the cockroach with a smug little head tilt.

“Look! You all just … took over my house!!” cried Zach in frustration.

“You left it full of unwashed plates and cups, with food scraps lying around everywhere for us. You lured us into a paradisiacal environment only to murder us all in cold blood!” cried the cockroach.

Zach took another badly needed hit from his bong.

“What if I were you and you were me?” mused the cockroach.”What if I had the power to decide that human beings were the pests in need of extermination, because you were a source of disturbance in my life?”

Zach pondered this, quite perturbed.

“Yeah, that’s right.” said the cockroach. “What if the shoe was on the other foot, huh?”

Zach eyed the cockroach with quick glance of steely sobriety. He shrugged.

“Well, it’s not.” he said, crushing the cockroach flat under his foot.

Zach hit the bong and exhaled a fat white puff of smoke.

Next time he would let off two roach bombs, and wait a full day before returning to the house.

He might also buy some stronger weed for when he did.