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That Time The Cockroaches Mutated

"Heads up."

She caught it with one hand. Mattie looked at the can of peas she was holding and felt her stomach turn in protest. She was tired of peas, tired of eating food that came encased in a sheet of tin. It's only been three days, but she could shank someone for a banana. Never did she think such a thought would cross her mind.

She opened the can and walked into the living room. Scooting over, Carol made room on the iffy couch for her roommate. Moving into an apartment together was much harder than either of them thought, but they were toughing it out, eating peas out of a can every night and trying not to complain. They ate quietly, the scraping of spoons inside cans and the rickety spinning of an ancient ceiling fan the only sounds in the dim apartment. Outside the living room window, they saw the uncomfortable red blinking of the motel next door's neon vacancy sign, a stark reminder that the neighbourhood they found themselves in was not the classiest place.

That sign was probably Mattie's least favourite thing about the apartment and also her room. She couldn't sleep in her empty cube of a bedroom with the eerie red glow from outside. Every morning at three o' clock she'd wake up feeling like someone with a knife was looming over her. The TV's bright, undersaturated light helped balance it out, so she opted for sleeping in the living room.

Carol scooped the last spoonful of peas into her mouth and then tossed the can across the room where it bounced off the trashcan and landed four feet away on the floor, a little pea juice splattered everywhere in the process. Mattie shot her a sideways glance and Carol didn't miss it.

"Don't worry," said Carol. "I'll clean it up."

And she did so promptly. There wasn't much else in the apartment to occupy her attention anyway. She grabbed a gross rag off the sink and threw the can in the trash on her way to clean up the spillage. As she knelt down to wipe up the pea juice, she heard the faintest rustling noise. Moving the trashcan, at least four abnormally large cockroaches came scurrying out from behind it. She yelped and sprang back, knocking into the counter behind her. The counter was flimsy enough that the impact knocked an open bottle of generic soda over, pouring its fizzy contents out over Carol and the roaches.

Carol watched the roaches freak out. The contact with the soda made them convulse and sputter, but in seconds they were motionless. Dead. Carol breathed a sigh of relief and wiped soda out of her eyes. Soon everything would be sticky and Mattie would have an aneurysm.

She pulled herself up and grabbed the dirty rag to rinse it in the sink. The water came out in erratic spurts. Once she closed the faucet, she heard an awful hissing sound behind her.

The cockroaches were smoking and sizzling, their tiny armoured bodies shaking violently. She watched, horrified, as their hard outer shells split open. It emitted a small gust of moisture and then something peeled out of the husks. Longer thicker legs replaced the old, and a head with bigger eyes and mandibles poked out. Their exoskeletons cracked and stretched to fit their new form, splitting down the sides and ripping open in other places. And antennae. They had longer antennae.

Suddenly there were four giant bugs in the tiny kitchen with Carol. Bugs so big they could fit her head inside their mouths. Mattie heard an enraged cry from the kitchen and went running only to find Carol wielding a broom and attacking giant roaches.

"What the..."

Before she could finish her question, Carol was backing into her and pushing her backwards out of the kitchen. The roaches followed their movements, their awkwardly large heads turning every which way.

"Get something to fight with," said Carol to Mattie as soon as they were back in the living room.

Mattie swung around and scanned their almost bare living room. There was nothing but boxes upon boxes of things they haven't unpacked yet. Panicking, she ran to the nearest stack of boxes and ripped the top one open. Her nails ripped at the packing tape, her hands shaking. Inside there was nothing but Carol's collection of hardback mystery novels.