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The Roaches in My Kitchen
I have a problem with housework. I don't do it, anymore. Screw it. Who cares? They do.
I learned bad housekeeping in my first place after the big one. My sink is so filled with grease from pizza, chicken wings, French fries and deep-fried take out that even the roaches can't approach it without safety lines and harnesses. Tiny ropes. You know, ropes like the one's that mountain climbers and spelunkers use. They even made tiny signs with tiny roach warnings: "beware the black hole of grease."
Now don't tell them this but roaches are really are clumsy bugs. One slip and they would slide down the drain and into the gaping black maw of the garbage disposal to be ground and torn to bits with the remains of rotting takeout and potato peels. I eat lots of potatoes.
"Belay those lines," I would hear from their tiny black mouths as they mine the sink for errant bits of food stuck in the layers of grease. Every so often one of those roaches is brave enough to venture out on the grease without a safety line and slides into the drain. On occasion, I simply flick a designated roach into to the black hole. The other roaches scatter of course and giggle about it afterward. It's in their nature to be silly. However, they always cheer their dear, demised , dead roach hero. After that a party starts.
Roaches give great wakes. They raise tiny headstones out of roach poo with tiny roach lettering saying things like "To Dad from his 37,425 children. Thanks for leaving us the rotting garbage" and chant strange roach hymns in tiny voices begging some demented Almighty roach in a heaven with fourteen rotting fruits and a new life for the fallen one. Then they party hearty. Party all night until the sun rises and they scurry away.
Oh! My manners have escaped me. We haven't been properly introduced. Radiation and nuclear winter nearly made mankind extinct but the roaches survived. After the bombs fell, our roach masters in their newly evolved wisdom rebuilt the cities in their image and kept a few of us alive. In time, they created amusement parks and thrill rides to entertain. The rich roaches, the ones that live "La Dolce Vita," kept a few almost-extinct humans alive. I'm called Denali after the old human tourist attraction in Alaska and because I live in Exhibit D. I'm the deadliest of all deaths--the greasy sink slob with a garbage disposal.
1500 words more or less
FUTURES YET UNKNOWN
Ten Stories by Dave Fragments
*An Alien serial murderer and a furry detective with fleas.
*Murder on a world with altered humans.
*Disturbing apocalyptic visions *Monstrous dystopian societies.
*A man on trial for betraying the human race to robots.
*Devils, demons and ghosts.
*Survivors of a plague war.
*Cyborgs trying to be human.
*Six friends in a strange sinkhole.
*The truth about a world drowning in rain, without sun, without hope.
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