"It's down there, I saw it," Michael's brother David said, tugging at his shirt while pointing downward.
The two brothers stood on the staircase, about five steps away from the floor, fear in their eyes.
Michael gulped slowly. He could feel his hands already starting to itch. He tried his best to hide his fear from his little brother, wanting to keep up the façade of the brave older brother, but his voice gave him away.
"A-are you sure?" he said, stuttering between words. Dave didn't seem to notice. He too was afraid, even more so because he had actually seen the thing.
The lights were on, and the lively sounds coming from the television filled the empty silence.
A few minutes ago, their mother had told them that dinner was ready. She had prepared their favorite food, fried rice and chicken.
She called them from their room and had retired to hers. Michael was on the toilet seat when he heard her call. Dave, on the other hand, was downstairs almost immediately.
Michael was on his way down when Dave ran up to him and screamed what he had seen.
And so there they were, stuck on the stairs, eyes fearfully darting around, searching for the horror.
Michael didn't know what was worse: the fact that he couldn't see it yet, or the fact that he soon would.
His brother pulled at his shirt even harder. "Look, it just flew."
Michael followed the little finger pointing above the dining table where their steaming hot food lay, to the ceiling, where it was.
The thing that frightened the brothers so…
A flying cockroach.
Attached to the wall, the creature stood on six thin appendages, all covered in tiny, icky hairs. Its thin antennae were long and darted around as if in search of something.
Its wings opened from time to time, threatening the young boys with its power of flight.
Michael was no stranger to cockroaches. He had killed many before, big or small. But a flying cockroach was truly terrifying.
They were rare, and he always avoided direct confrontation with them, choosing to avoid the situation altogether.
The cockroach was scarier because of its unpredictability. Most cockroaches would run at the presence of a human or simply go about their business.
A flying cockroach just had to be different. From the few times Michael had come across one, they had always terrified him with their sudden launch into the air, and most times, they would throw themselves at him.
He could vividly remember the first time he encountered one. Thinking it was an ordinary cockroach, he approached to kill it, slipper in hand.
The creature flashed its wings and hit Michael in the face before flying away. Michael could still remember the feel of the cockroach on his skin: the tiny hairs of its feet that brushed against him, the thin antennae that tickled his eyelids, and the hard exterior that struck him.
Michael screamed. He wanted to peel off his face and have a new one. He couldn't wash away the itch from his face, not with water, not with soap, and not with his tears.
For weeks, Michael did not dare to step downstairs at night.
But today he could not run. He could not go back. His food was there at the mercy of the cockroach, and his brother was counting on him.
Or maybe the cockroach wouldn't bother them. Yeah, maybe if they ignored it, it would ignore them.
As if reading his mind, the arthropod flew again, this time landing on the wall of the room, with its head directly facing them.
Its antennae wiggled furiously, and its wings fluttered once more.
Michael understood. There was no avoiding this problem, not today.
Michael took deep breaths and bent down to pick up his rubber slippers, his favorite weapon against insects, and began to slowly approach the dinner table.
Please don't fly, please don't fly, Michael prayed, inching closer to the flying terror.
The cockroach had not yet noticed his approach. He held his breath and slowed his movements to a crawl.
As if stuck in slow motion, he extended his throwing arm, ready to let his weapon fly.
"Just one shot," Michael thought. "I can't miss."
Summoning all his strength, he threw his slipper toward it and… missed.
His eyes went wide with horror.
The cockroach reacted and flew straight at him. Michael ducked and let out a fearful cry.
The arthropod crashed into a wall and flew again, this time straight at Dave.
Dave screamed. His small frame hurried up the stairs, missing a few steps and almost tripping.
He made his way upstairs before the cockroach could reach him.
It attached itself to the wall, its thin antennae flung around violently.
Michael calmed himself once again and picked up his other slipper.
"It's all in the wrist."
He moved up the stairs this time with a cold resolve to kill.
The frightened face of his younger brother peeked from the top of the stairway, bearing witness to their duel.
This time, it saw him coming.
The cockroach opened its wings, ready to take flight, before a rubber slipper smacked it into the wall.
Its insides burst open, and yellow-green fluid splattered across the wall. Michael had slain it.
He roared in triumph. "That's how you do it," he said while beating his chest.
Dave ran down the stairs to join him in celebration. "You did it!" he yelled.
Michael smiled. "Of course I did. These guys are too weak."
He gestured toward their food on the table. "Let's finally eat," he said.
"And watch TV," Dave added gleefully.
"Yeah, of course."
The two brothers sat in the living room on the soft leather couches and began to eat while watching cartoons that played on the big screen.
None of them noticed it.
It approached from the couch and crept up Michael's arm.
Still chewing his food, Michael felt something tickle his arm. His head turned slowly, and his mouth stopped moving.
He couldn't react in time, because before he could scream or run, the cockroach flew and hit him right on the lips.