It was dark brown; hard and polished.
Scuttling around, twitching its antennae, probably on some Godless mission - unaware and hateable by virtue of its very being.
I snatched the bum-gun and shot.
The cockroach wasn't expecting the assault. It panicked, desperately trying to find a way away from the relentless jet.
I cocked my head, clinically looking on as the water pummelled the pitiful creature.
When I finally let up the cockroach pressed itself into the tiled corner up on its hind legs, it's forelegs out and ready to brace itself against another attack.
Confused betrayal seeped through the bathroom.
He never came back.
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