• Being careless and all together too trusting, I left my window slightly open to let some air into my stagnant room. With faith in the universe, defiant of the rules I went out for the day and enjoyed the freshness of the air in my space when I returned.

  Lying on my bed I watched a great moth who had found her way in, throw herself blindly, frantically, harmlessly against the walls of my room. Warning me of the insecurity of my situation.

  I lay, sleepily reading through a low but increasing awareness of a stroke on my left thigh. High on my left thigh. Silently dismissed by my protective subconcious as the action of the fan I turned to full blast on the loose flimsy shorts I had made the choice to wear.

   Suddenly sickeningly the veil was penetrated and the unatural quality of the feeling filled my head. The intrusiveness. I finally looked directly at the cockroach crawling up my thigh.

  I brushed at it. It returned. Agahst at the failure of my only course of action I brushed and swept and hit at my thigh.

  Finally I swept it to the mosquito net hanging impotently by my bed.

  Knowing it was there, knowing it could take the libery of returning to my thigh I resolved to kill it. Encircling it in the netting I crushed it between my fingers. Over and over. Crunching every plausible pocket that it's persistant life could find to sneak and hide in, in that papery souless body.

  Finally it died. I closed my window.

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