The Cockroach and the Chicken.

He curled himself into a ball under the table where he hid, wishing that he could curl even tighter, become smaller and disappear. Despite the urge to scream, come out of his hiding place and dash as fast as he could, he remained silent and stationary, like a resting cockroach. He breathed once every minute and kept his mouth slightly open to prevent the imagined clatter of his teeth from making any sound. His efforts were quite unnecessary; the part of his brain responsible for unconscious processes had taken over and rendered all movements, twitches and sounds mute, with the exception of his rebellious heart which would not stop thumping lub-dub; lub-dub.

In the darkness of the room, he saw the shadow of his pursuer, pacing around the living room, evidently searching for him. The memory of Benny's split skull, her popped out brain, the dark red blood that flowed out and the lifeless body which still lay in the next room came to his mind and he felt tears flowing down his cheeks. Some flowed into his mouth and he tasted its saltiness as he remembered how the masked man had dashed her head repeatedly against the tiled floor after he shot her with his silent gun, and how he had watched, stupefied, immobilized by his fear until the man turned to him. 

He was still trying to convince himself that the reality he found himself in was real. Only that morning he and Benny had sat and eaten at the very table he now hid under, making plans for her upcoming birthday, arguing about the best places to visit. She had boasted of the make up and dresses she would put on that day and how beautiful she would look. He had smiled at her before telling her that if she looked anymore beautiful than she already did, his heart would not be able to take it. That made her blush and she shifted her chair closer to him and kissed him on the lips, breaking her own rule of no kissing while eating. Her face wore the smile, the smile that reassured him of her love, the smile that could turn him against his own family. The face of the body that now lay in the next room did not look like that, and he hated that it would now be the face he remembered whenever he thought of her. His tears gained renewed steam when he imagined the pain she must have felt...and that he had been there, unable to do anything, useless. He was disgusted with himself and wished with all his life force that he could be her and she could be him. Why did she try to attack the masked man? Why did she not just let him have his way with her? He would have understood and his love for her would not diminish, so why did she not close her eyes and bear it? If she had, perhaps she would be alive now and he would be comforting her and they would be trying to get their statements straight for the police.

He heard the heavy footsteps upstairs, his pursuer was still searching for him. He thought if maybe, this was his chance to escape. His eyes could only see the silhouettes of the furniture and pillars, made possible by the small amount of moonlight that penetrated the darkness through the slightly ajar door. He knew it was only a matter of time before his hiding place was found out, he would have to do something, and quick. He had few ideas. 

He could scream for help and hope that someone came to his rescue. But it was past midnight and half the neighborhood was asleep. On the off chance that someone heard, the masked man would have found him out, done what he wanted with him and fled long before anyone reached his front door. 

He thought of attacking his pursuer. Now that he was upstairs, he could sneak out from under the table and ambush him when he came down. There was a baseball bat in the room where Benny's s body was, he could retrieve it quickly and make use of it. If that could not be done, he could make use of the heavy stool in the living room, that too would be effective. But there were fractious cracks in this plan. The person he was planning to ambush wielded a gun, one wrong move and he would end up shot. In his normal state of mind and body, he might be able to pull it off but he could not trust his body or mind in its current state. 

He also considered staying as he was, praying and hoping that the masked man left. What should he do? What could he do? He reminded himself that time was running out still he could not make a decision or get his body to move. He felt cornered and doomed, like a cockroach trying to escape a chicken; no matter how fast it ran, it could not escape the chicken or its eventual fate at the depths of the chicken's stomach. 

Now a part of him considered crawling from under the table, and then surrendering to his pursuer, if his fate was already sealed, why delay it. Another part urged him to cling to his life, even though it would not be one worth living without Benny. He saw the booted legs of his pursuer walk past the table and disappear into the kitchen. Then he thought, "this is my last chance to escape." Despite his body's reluctance to move, the part of his being urging him to surrender, and a renewed urge to attack and cause hellish pain for his pursuer, he mustered courage _or blind fear and began to crawl quietly towards the faint light at the door. He was almost there when he felt a heavy hand firmly grip his heel, eliminating the possibility of him moving any further. He turned and twisted like an earthworm which had had salt poured on it but he could not free himself. He felt a strength of cataclysmic proportion lift and turn him over. His eyes looked up to meet a set of cold, cruel and uncaring eyes which appeared even more ominous when viewed with the little light available in the room. He felt his heart which had been uncooperative from the start of the ordeal deaden with fear as he beheld the giant figure before him. He opened his mouth to scream but his voice too had bowed to fear and would not come out. He felt the hand pull him closer to its intimidating body and he realizing that it was over, closed his eyes and began to think of...