The Death of the Cockroach King

"Quiet!"

The King of Cockroaches stood, gazing out at the multitude below. His eyes took in the movement of the crowd, restless with hunger and fear. Each of his soldiers had hastily assembled in the vastness of this room, moving quickly and surely when the coast became clear.

"Each of you has a job to do. We know the weapons of the enemy, and the enemy is strong. But the enemy is One, and we are many!"

A cheer arose from the multitude, each cockroach swelling with pride in his strength, the power he found in his brethren. There was camaraderie there. Each knew his mission, and ached in his carapace to fulfill it.

"I call to you! I ask you: what is there to fear from this enemy? What does this One have that we do not? We are strong! Our roach ancestors survived ice ages, drought, famine, and we will survive into the future!"

The cheer grew to an amazing pitch, echoing from the high ceiling and filling the King with an almost religious fervor.

"Tonight, we will make our move! Tonight -- "

Suddenly, the room was brightened as if the sun itself had begun to blaze brightly! The enemy was upon them!

Stunned by the bright light, the roach warriors had no time to react. By the time they had regained their senses, the enemy had set upon them with chemical warfare so foul that the effects cannot be described here. The fog of battle descended, and the King of Cockroaches feebly tried to run, for his troops were routed.

He staggered to the door, fighting the chemicals that were affecting his body. He turned to survey the carnage: many roaches lay dead.

The King could not bear this sight. He resolved to kill the enemy himself. He saw the One, relaxing and proud in its slaughter, and knew he must take action. He drew himself up, and cautiously began scaling the wall. Soon, the fever of battle overtook his chemically-induced sickness, and he charged, headlong toward the enemy.

"I avenge my brothers!" he shouted, barreling toward the enemy. Another cloud of poison hit him, but in his zeal he did not stop, but felt invigorated! He moved faster, and the enemy turned to run! He was winning!

Too late, he realized the trap. the enemy had put a safe distance between itself and him, and now it turned for one final attack. The spray of gas engulfed him, stopping his momentum, causing his body to ache and his lungs to burn. A final rational thought came to him, and he turned, running for the safety of his fortress. With his goal in sight, he finally fell, dead. He died for his people.

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Thanks for the inspiration, Monika. Miss ya!

(For the context of this story, check out the LJ Entry that spawned it!).

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