Journal logo

The Saga of the Roach

George of the Patriarchy

By Alexis LarivierePublished 3 years ago 3 min read
Like

It was much to my dismay that I came to notice, a roach that has taken up hospice in my master suite. We are currently reenacting Tom and Jerry scenes. I think he finds this both amusing and thrilling. I personally find it appalling and annoying. Little does he know he will die soon. His days are numbered and his time is marked by the Grim Reaper himself. However, he grows ever more ballsy. Let me explain:

When I first laid eyes upon him we made eye contact. He laid in wait near my ceiling. Much too high for me to administer a mortal combat-style kill, so I let him be. It was an unspoken agreement if you will. I would let him live for now, or if he exited the premises and I never heard from him again. No less than twenty-four hours go by and he, we shall call him George, George of the Patriarchy, decided to adventure down to the depths of my master bedroom floors while doing a speed of Mach Jesus towards my bed. I quietly observed George in a slight panic while outwardly remaining calm so I didn't startle him. I whispered aloud that it was his time to die. This is when I learned that he is skilled in the art of deception and stealth because he lived to see another sunrise, much to my surprise and misfortune.

I would find him lying on my bathroom floor drinking shower water (that isn't getting hot, RAGE!) and jamming out to "It Wasn't Me" by Shaggy. I did have to laugh at the connotations of such a spectacle happening inside my own home. I quickly composed myself. I administered what should have been the perfect smack with a slipper to end his roach life but he deflected again and vanished! I am truly admiring his resilience and will to live at this point. I am also filled with a small amount of sadness as I realize that a great life will be lost when our fateful paths are to cross again.

And it came upon a late-night eerie while I pondered, bold and leary, over a book of many words whose volume humble. While I nodded away at my computer tapping, there came a sound, a quiet flapping, something quietly crawling, flapping about my chamber floors. It’s the Roach, George of the patriarchy, I muttered, nothing more. Quietly I crept, a slipper in my hand, and sorrow in the other, for what would soon to be a lost one, George. The slipper snapped from my wrist quick as a whip. One single clap rang through the night. The rare and resilient Roach, whom the devils named George, nameless here, forevermore. With the sad rustling of bounty, he was laid to rest in a stainless steel tomb. Our charade laid to rest, the rustling, the crawling, the crusading. Will never be, never more.

George of the Patriarchy was laid to rest at approximately 10:26 PM on May 11, 2021, wrapped neatly in one sheet of bounty quicker picker-upper while "Only Time" by Enya played in the background. He was laid in a stainless steel tomb before embarking on the journey of his roach afterlife. George left behind no family, he was a true vigilante until the end. He upheld his roach code of stealth, resilience, determination, and wit, unlike any other roach that came before him. He will be missed by those that knew him and knew of him. Many roaches will try to follow in his steps, and many will fail. May he rest in pieces.

humor
Like

About the Creator

Alexis Lariviere

Hello creative friends! I've been a creative mind my whole life. I call myself an accidental writer. I hope you enjoy the collection of literary works you will find on my page. Mahalo for stopping by!

-Lex

Instagram: _inkedmermaid_

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.