Chapter 2 – Cockroach

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When I was a child, I always wondered why only birds live through the dinosaur era. But when I matured, I saw through it clearly.

“They can fly.”

Not all animals with wings survived, though. Insects didn’t. Winged lizards didn’t. Still, having the ability to fly gave winged creatures enough chance to run to the opposite of the meteor blast.

Then, what about the current era? Who could survive a mass extinction?

The only thing I could consider surviving through the harshest climates was none other than cockroaches.

They could fly and eat nothing but dirt. Although they were insects and had medium speed, I assumed they could withstand the heat from a nuclear bomb. Of course, sandals could do the trick against them (if a person was fast enough to hit before it flew away), or any pure force. Nevertheless, their mere tenacity to exist made them a being worth looking up to.

For once, I hoped to be a cockroach. People might consider me the lowest existence, but at least, I have the persistence to live. Especially when someone like me entered the dangerous world of dragons and fishes.

Q City Jail, ‘where strong eats the weak, and strong eat strong’. There was no place for weakling here. Even the fishes here had fangs and tricks to retaliate. The problem was… I didn’t have any self-defense training. I’m just a normal business guy. So, everyone picked on me.

“Get lost!” Smack!

“Hehehe. Wimp, come here! Faster! Massage my shoulders! You better be good at it or else… Hehehe.”

“Hey, you are blocking my path! Scram!”

I could only bow my head and follow what they said. But these weren’t the worst. It was a nightmare during the night.

“Ugh! Ugh! I’m coming!”

I gritted my teeth as the fiercest man in the cell ‘do’ me. The first time it happened, I thought I wanted to die. I might not be handsome, but my toned body, the fruits of my daily exercise, still gave me a beautifully sculpted appearance. To the maniacs, I'm a beauty in the cell.

Lunging at the man, I resisted with all my might the second time. But it was hopeless. He defeated me with a few moves. And even though I managed to trip him the third time, I heard a chorus of chuckles instead. Moving my head around, I saw everyone looking at me with a menacing gaze.

I had to surrender from them onwards.

I’m not a masochist. These daily occurrences were enough for me to commit suicide. But why did I, a wimp and a poor-dirt loser, was still struggling?

All because of my wife. What could I do? Revenge for the man responsible for our downfall? Impossible! Surely, he had what it takes to battle against us ten times over!

Our money came from blood and sweat. They didn’t come from sheer intelligence, which, unlike him, gained everything from barely doing anything.

I felt remorse more than anger. A sad fate for being the dog lower than the underdog. I couldn’t be any lower and it was my fault for dragging my wife down. She was the best. And me, being the worst, canceled everything out.

Nonetheless, I didn’t have the luxury to feel sadness, much less talk about anger and revenge right now. Inside the bathroom, a rain of showers hid the bitter appearance I was having. They passed me around like a broken toy. Their laughter, such a resemblance to a demon, or what I thought was devil-like, rang for eternity. My consciousness turned on and off like a light bulb. I’m blue from the beatings and exasperation.

“Do I still need to persist?” This thought echoed non-stop.

If only I was a cockroach… I could still fly away.

…