The Crystalline Chanticleer

© KJ Hannah Greenberg

Refracted light splashed red and blue on the linoleum counter. Near the rooster's beak, evening radiance pooled frosty amber. Near its tail, a harlequin hue was most conspicuous. A solitary, brown cockroach transversed all of that celestial luminosity.

The bug hungered for a crumb of bread, the scrapings from a banana peel, or, if need be, the inside of a can of beans. Only moonbeams and ornament, though, decked the scoured table. The salt and pepper shakers, to which nearly invisible smears often clung, too, had been put away.

Antennae extended, the chitin-covered warrior scurried to the edge. Sometimes children wiped their sticky hands there. Sometimes mothers sponged away all such dregs with bleach.

The tiny arthropod continued on, to the underside. Above, the cockerel opened one glass eye.

Neither chewing gum nor rancid sediments remained; the smell of ammonia was strong and wafted, as well, from the cracks between the leaves. The creepy-crawly resurfaced.

Hunger drives remarkable behaviors. The little blattaria began to climb the lone centerpiece. It inched from pedestal to abdomen, to neck, to head, to bill. Once more, the transparent chanticleer was sated.