Rough Groove

Death in the morning

Bodies were piled up along the road. Some were crawling, wobbling along the street and pavement. Others trying to hang on to dear life but its futile as their very existence is slowly snuffed out. While others still scampering, flushed out from their shelters but the toxic air slowly holds them and life drain starts. The smell of death in the air is palpable. But it seems the people passing by doesn’t care to this mass murder. This genocide. They just look down and hurriedly walk away.

This morning, I passed by a cockroach pogrom.