Glittering steps echoed in the darkness, breaking the silence of the night. Moonlight spilled across the floor, casting a dull, brown metallic glow on the moving form. Its belly was swollen—not with food, but with life. Eggs.
Driven by hunger, and guided by the perfect warmth of the kitchen air, it moved forward cautiously, antennae twitching with signals of both food and fear. It reached the base of the refrigerator—where a single chickpea lay forgotten, thrown by the child of the house. Unliked. Unwanted.
The creature tasted it with its mandibles. Dry. Fungus-spotted. But to her, it was divine.
But the food dulled her caution. The taste. The rare calm. She forgot. Just for a moment.
Then—vibration.
A tremor.
The floor itself warned her.
A large, barefoot step echoed through the kitchen. A yawn above. But she was too lost in the moment—too hungry to care. Her antenna twitched in panic—but too late.
A massive weight dropped.
Crunch.
The sound echoed under the foot.
Then—light. The switch flicked on.
Under that heel, still twitching, lay the crushed form of the mother—and her unborn children. Slimy white eggs spilled out across the tile. Life ended before it began.
A human voice shouted above.
"Disgusting cockroaches!"
Water gushed. Soap lathered. The foot was scrubbed again and again, brought to the nose to sniff, only to gag and wash again.
Meanwhile, the broken bodies were swept into the dustbin. Forgotten.