Of Roaches, Bones, and Silent Air [Archive: Jan 22, 2011]
The cockroach stirred and made its way out of the folds of the man's sweater. It wiggled its antennae and climbed on top of the nearby chair, observing the dim and crammed inn room, silently noting to itself that its master has moved the sleeping bag several inches closer to the woman's bed once again. Gaspar gave out a concerned squeak, too quiet for the log of a man to hear, musing over this strange gesture the man seemed bent on keeping up - really, why should the mating rituals be so complicated and odd? Just the other day, the two got close enough to exchange fluids. Wasn't that enough? They always seemed to make a point of keeping a safe distance between each other, yet every now and then a curious and desperate limb will reach out and pull away almost immediately, as if burned and shocked by its own action. And yet it rarely saw the man away from the woman's company anymore.
Sometimes it wondered if his master is even capable of keeping a mate, let alone finding one.
Gaspar was a cockroach, but it was not stupid.
It slid the scaly brown body across the table piled with pages and pages of notes and sketches. It did not understand any of the scribbles but it always provided a degree of amusement to the insect to watch either one of them foam at their mouth over things that do not seem to matter, scream and tap at a notebook's page and then proceed to stab at it with sharp, small objects. The roach did not understand what wrong the pages have committed, but it sure as hell wasn't about to share their fate. It was a very intelligent bug for its size.
Gaspar tittered-tottered over the table and towards the window, gathering a few stray crumbs on its way. It carefully weaved in between the two flower pots and let out a menacing hiss. It was a roach and those were plants! It had to assert its dominance, even though the plants' digestive systems were removed and they could not harm the reckless little thing anymore.
Something scuttled from underneath the bed, something with faintly glowing purple eyes, something tied up and gathered together with rope and threads and wires and a dose of this very strange brand of love his master master seemed to possess. It snapped its jaws with curiosity and gave the cockroach a faint wave with a tiny and bony limb. Gaspar hissed once again - this time to urging the skeletal raptor to be silent.
Webbed wings worked their way through the dusty and silvery moonlit air with some difficulty, carrying the over-fed body towards the foot of the bed. The bone construct, appropriately named Shambles, attempted to jump in a sudden whir excitement but ended up hitting the wooden frame of the bed with the top of his head with a loud “thunk”. If the roach had a palm and a face it would be covering the latter with the former.
As the two saw the sleeping bag shiver and stir, the small pieces of their consciousness put two and two together and dashed into their appropriate corners. They watched the man from there - the dark silhouette growing and rising, lifting up his hands to his temples and letting out a quiet groan. He stayed still for nearly half a minute, just like this, palms on either side of his head and long grey hair covering his face like a tangled curtain. He whispered something too quiet for either of them to hear and kneeled before the bed.
He pulled his hair back, leaned over, placed his elbows on the bed's very edge. Both the roach and the dead raptor cocked their heads to the side as he just stayed there, in the dark, for several long moments, bathed in the soft blues of the nightly room and silvery strands of moonlight that pierced their way through the curtains.
A quick movement, a kiss planted on the woman's shoulder, and a smile that was too soft and brief and genuine to be caught by either pet.
The night was quiet once again.
Sometimes it wondered if his master is even capable of keeping a mate, let alone finding one.
Gaspar was a cockroach, but it was not stupid.
It slid the scaly brown body across the table piled with pages and pages of notes and sketches. It did not understand any of the scribbles but it always provided a degree of amusement to the insect to watch either one of them foam at their mouth over things that do not seem to matter, scream and tap at a notebook's page and then proceed to stab at it with sharp, small objects. The roach did not understand what wrong the pages have committed, but it sure as hell wasn't about to share their fate. It was a very intelligent bug for its size.
Gaspar tittered-tottered over the table and towards the window, gathering a few stray crumbs on its way. It carefully weaved in between the two flower pots and let out a menacing hiss. It was a roach and those were plants! It had to assert its dominance, even though the plants' digestive systems were removed and they could not harm the reckless little thing anymore.
Something scuttled from underneath the bed, something with faintly glowing purple eyes, something tied up and gathered together with rope and threads and wires and a dose of this very strange brand of love his master master seemed to possess. It snapped its jaws with curiosity and gave the cockroach a faint wave with a tiny and bony limb. Gaspar hissed once again - this time to urging the skeletal raptor to be silent.
Webbed wings worked their way through the dusty and silvery moonlit air with some difficulty, carrying the over-fed body towards the foot of the bed. The bone construct, appropriately named Shambles, attempted to jump in a sudden whir excitement but ended up hitting the wooden frame of the bed with the top of his head with a loud “thunk”. If the roach had a palm and a face it would be covering the latter with the former.
As the two saw the sleeping bag shiver and stir, the small pieces of their consciousness put two and two together and dashed into their appropriate corners. They watched the man from there - the dark silhouette growing and rising, lifting up his hands to his temples and letting out a quiet groan. He stayed still for nearly half a minute, just like this, palms on either side of his head and long grey hair covering his face like a tangled curtain. He whispered something too quiet for either of them to hear and kneeled before the bed.
He pulled his hair back, leaned over, placed his elbows on the bed's very edge. Both the roach and the dead raptor cocked their heads to the side as he just stayed there, in the dark, for several long moments, bathed in the soft blues of the nightly room and silvery strands of moonlight that pierced their way through the curtains.
A quick movement, a kiss planted on the woman's shoulder, and a smile that was too soft and brief and genuine to be caught by either pet.
The night was quiet once again.