Murder!

This morning I killed a roach. What struck me as startling was that, as I drew my hand nearer (actually I plunged it down on it --- protected by a paper towel of course, no one wants roach entrails on his or her bare skin... I think :-/ )the roach noticed. Of course, it noticed at the last second, and that was a bit too late. But I started thinking that this thing, this animal, must have been scared of whatever was coming to it. Why else would it flee? (Of course, fear is an instinct, so you cannot deny that to any living creature who relies basically -or solely- on instinct.

Had it been a rat, mouse, anything bigger and furry, I would have felt heartbroken (yes, happenned to me once, I ran over a rat with my car, and I got a widdly gurgle in my pit, not good, I started praying to the Rat God for mercy). But in this case, no remorse reared its ugly head, but I did feel sort of uneasy. What was life like for roaches before mankind? Did they have to hide whenever light hit them? Do they naturally like the dark? Whatever proof offered now is biased by the fact that we are studying roach behavior in the present (trying to place a bet on how they behaved on the past is a wild card, just like trying to say what a dinosaur sounded like). Maybe, where they live right now, inside hollow walls, plumbing systems and under creaky, moist floorboards and rotten leaf piles, they're planning the demise of humanity. Maybe they're biding their time until we finally kill ourselves off (it is happenning). But I'm guessing they mustn't be very happy about having to change living conditions out of an exacerbated fear coming from chemical-obsessed humans.

I, for one, really have a phobia of the things. But I have to consider possibilities: one day I may have to face the Roach God (is there such a thing) and be held accountable for all the murders I have comitted.

When that day comes, I hope I will have an extra-big can of Black Jack!