Stories I have made up about Frances, the giant cockroach who lives under my bed, in order to be less scared of her
Frances was born on a windy night in March. She remembers it clearly, since it was only 2 months ago. As she hatched from the ootheca into the damp, shrieky humanland, she felt herself undergo a hardening, preparing for life in the city's understory. The sounds of drunken romance wafted overhead: "I had a really good time with you today. I mean, I wasn't bored."
***
Frances took a lover herself, once. His name was DiertHISSSHmmm, and he lived in a pipe under Konditori on Washington Avenue. He had a poster of The Raconteurs taped above his nest, which Frances found embarrassing, but she tried to forget about it, because DiertHISSSHmmm had all of his legs and laughed at her jokes. Frances and DiertHISSSHmmm would sit in the wet darkness together, kissing and whispering about MDMA therapy.
***
One day, DiertHISSSHmmm told Frances that they needed to break up. He had to spend more time focusing on his passion: writing short stories from the perspective of women and minorities. Frances scuttled away, her throat burning, recklessly venturing out of the cracks in the floor to stuff her face with gluten-free/vegan pumpkin muffin crumbs.
***
Frances's best friend, YIEPpppxBLEERG, is from the UK; she traveled overseas in the Timberland boot of a cowardly product manager who, upon arrival, screamed "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" at her and sprinted away. Following this episode, YIEPpppxBLEERG has struggled with trauma and is afflicted with bouts of social paranoia; she assumes people find her repulsive and lives in terror of being excluded from parties. Frances loves YIEPpppxBLEERG, but sometimes ignores her texts.
***
Right now, Frances is reading a propped-open copy of Tantric Visions of the Divine Feminine: The Ten Mahavidyas given to her human roommate by their therapist. It's a bit dense, and she is only able to read about 2 words per hour, but she likes the ferocity of the Mahavidya goddesses, and relates to their willingness to eat human flesh. She dreams of Kali, who is terrifying, like her.
***
Frances's Bat Mitzvah was a poorly-attended affair, because pweenYIKEeeees, her frenemy, chose the same date and booked the only available DJ. Frances' neighbor Shauna DJ-ed instead, after Frances' mother bribed her with five bags of salty dust.
***
Frances and YIEPpppxBLEERG recently decided to leave Prospect Heights for good. They'll have more space in Lefferts Gardens, and YIEPpppxBLEERG has been yearning for a fresh start after an unexpectedly dramatic brush with a polyamorous throuple living underneath Brooklyn Boulders. Plus, Frances isn't stupid—she knows there's roach poison waiting for her all over the floor of her shared bedroom. She feels a little sad for her human roommate, who can't even look death in the face, or contemplate squishing something so horribly large. "Bye, bitch," she whispers, lumbering back down into the sewers, toward a new chapter.
Love,
Ellie