Brian The Brave

Once upon a cold wintry time, in a city far and away from the origins of his ancestors, lived a young cockroach named Brian. An adventurous insect with all the energies of youth and curiosities abound, his antennae quickening those senses that directed him along daunting and often dangerous paths. 

“We must remain in the cracks,” his mother would explain each time he sat slumped against the splintered walls of their abode. “Your father does not want to punish you, but he only worries that you will run off with the wrong herd...” her words made no sense to him. He didn’t want to listen to the old stories of his father’s long-lost friend who ventured out into the daylight only to be viciously swatted down by the screaming villagers of another time, place.

Brian knew the stories too well, for he had been forced to listen to all of his father’s hissing regrets of troubled times since he was laid long ago. Being one of nearly four hundred nymphs born to his parents, he was the only one to have remained at home, behind. He sulked regretfully. “I’m big enough to do what I want, mother!” he would hiss in huffs, turning him darker and darker still. 

Troubled, his mother would crawl along the splintery walls, pacing back and forth. She was no longer the sought-after beauty that once made many males turn to stumble in her dainty direction. Her antennae beginning to bend, she was aging in the labyrinth of their dark, dank walls. Peering out from behind the crevices of such an old home; there had been many men thumping in and out, rumbling their voices throughout the ominous house. “They’re saying that we cockroaches will truly inherit all of the earth,” her whispering hisses informed, whenever poking her antennae through the walls to spy on the human beings.

“When mother?” Brian’s excitement had always given her reason to stand tall during those nights when, one by one, her unbelieving little nymphs departed. Until one night, she spun around to announce the familiar fables to a field rodent sitting on a rusty pipe screeching in appreciation. She began to weep, her legs bent, collapsing when suddenly she heard the soft whimpering hiss of Brian. ‘I’m still here mother!’ he cried, scurrying close to her side.

He stuck his antennae through the hole in the wall with a determination that made his father proud. “And one day we will crawl over the earth in the daylight just like our ancestors who flew towards shiny objects, jewels, and anything else they fancied! All the trash will be ours. Never again will we have to hide hungry in darkness!” His voice hummed bravely, beautifully. 

Where had his spirit gone? She wondered, sliding herself into a crack. Maybe he had lost his love for her and his father. That notion was troubling to her as she spied her son laying on his back, belly upward. Perhaps he too was growing older and losing hope. Perhaps. After all, she and his father shared a loving relationship and Brian had only them to fend for, to love.

One particular evening when the moon had fully risen, its luminous beams falling in over the drapes like pillars from Heaven, Brain and his aging parents had made the familiar climb to the heights of fiery flames. “We’ll be there soon, Remee! Keep close,” his father smiled, his hums encouraging.

Brian stared upward at the black and silver knobs for each burner above. The hike to the top of the stove was a long one, but sitting around the gas-lit fire would warm their bodies. He thought, earnestly shoving past his parents.

“Isn’t this delightful?” Brian’s mother chimed, huddling close to the blue flame beneath the burner. “I truly love these nights when we are together near the fire that crisps our crumbs and warms our spirits,” she said, noticing that her son paid no mind to her giddy whispers. Insolent, Brian scurried away to crawl into the old, empty matchbox that lay nearby. He didn’t want to watch the fire dance from the cool draft blowing in beneath the open windowsill. He wanted to be adventurous; to climb up past the iron burners, across the shiny stovetop, over the spatulas, and around the pots, anywhere, but there with his parents. Anywhere, faraway. 

“Come and eat, son,” his father beckoned.

“You must have nourishment, Brian,” his mother’s tone was distraught with worries. “I don’t understand our son,” she hissed, observing his posture as he stared upwards towards the eerie night moon. “All he thinks about is leaving home without any concern as to the dangers abroad, about us.”

“He’s just feeling his oats, as my great grandmother used to say whenever one of us behaved in such a miserable, mindless manner. He’ll feel better when he meets a mate in the herd tomorrow,” he grinned, trying to reassure his wife, whose peculiar stare welled with tears.

“Do you think we should tell him about the exterminators?” she asked, sniveling. “Maybe if we tell him that the humans are coming with tanks to ...”

“NO!” Brian’s father hissed. “There’s no need to make him frightened, it will just upset him. Tomorrow, when the sun rises early, we will all make our way to the rooftop where we’ll be safe,” he whispered. “He’ll meet a mate, a sweetheart who will chase his insecurities away! You’ll see, Remee!”

“Do you really think she’ll be kind?”

He smiled, his antennae touching her cheek. “I am certain! Our son is a good boy; caring and loving, what other mate could he attract? He’ll lead his own herd one day! We will make it out of here in time to see him whistle and puff into the young man whose love will give us grand nymphs galore!” His inspiring words filled their imaginations with giddiness as they watched him sleep, tucked safely away in his musty, old matchbox.

Tomorrow would be a dangerous day for the family as the news of those silver tanks would be rolling in, spraying through every open crack, crevasse, and hideaway to exterminate the cockroaches. Those fatal fumes that pumped into the walls, under the beds, and into the cupboards poisoned entire herds; executing them in a slow, agonizing demise. It was all they could do to try to escape before the executioners marched in with their shiny tanks. This would be their last night sitting around the gas fire together before having to find a new home. There was no point in frightening Brian with the prospect of their family being harmed and homeless. No point at all.

The quiet HISS HUM HISS of his parents sleeping made Brian happy as he climbed out of the box. Whew! He crawled slowly on the tips of his pointy legs to escape. Up! Up! along the ceiling of the metal stove, passing through the iron grates of the burner, he scurried! They would never know that he was out of his matchbox, never! He smiled, crawling up towards the curtains of that windowsill where a cool breeze blew against his face. He would sneak out and return before dawn without his parents ever having realized what happened. After all, he had been sneaking off during the nighttime hours for weeks without them ever discovering his rebellious rendezvous. That’s how he met Milton, the old rat who lived in the dank labyrinth within their walls.

“You ought to stay close with your kin. You might get lost, son,” Milton’s raspy squeaks warned whenever he spied the young nymph scouting for food. It was a mystery to Milton, who did not understand such disobedience to one’s parents. Anyone who had the fortune of loving guardians ought to be grateful for such disciplined doting. It was not simple growing up in the darkness of years without guidance, without love. He would squeak the same old tales of when he lost his own parents to the snapping of steel traps that squeezed their necks to naught, leaving him an orphan to fend for himself.

“The underworld is dangerous, boy. Return to your crevasse and be glad you have parents who love you,” he’d say whenever Brian crept past him on those nightly escapes for food and fun.

‘Stupid ol’ rat!” he’d hiss haughtily while scurrying away.

What did Milton know anyway? He thought, staring out beyond the cold windowpane. I’m going to do whatever I want to and no one can stop me! He grinned. The wind blew against his antennae as he scurried over the splintery frame. Outside, he felt like a king cockroach! Nobody sets boundaries, rules, or restrictions. In the world beyond the windowsill, he was free. FREE! His thin wispy legs sped towards the ground. “I’m FREE!” he giggled in heartfelt hisses. Free...

A sudden SPLASH dropped from the sky onto his head. Brr! He shook, trembling from the cold when again SPLASH DROP DROP SPLASH from the skies fell the rain! He had fallen asleep next to a tin can that TINK TINK sound sent shudders through his antennae. He had to get home! He thought in a frantic panic as the sunshine disappeared behind thick, gray rain clouds. 

Mother and father will be angry, he reckoned while rushing along in the muddy dirt. Quickly, Brian scurried up the building, avoiding the enormous drops of water that rolled ferociously towards him. In a frenzied dash to reach the curtains blowing out of the window, he cried for his mother. “Mom! Mom!” His shouts hissed in the wicked winds of a furious storm unheard, lost. 

Twigs and burnt autumn leaves blew in every direction while tiny thorns from the anguishing skies pricked his frantic figure as he raced recklessly to return home. Huffing, he hurled himself beneath the windowsill when a swift gust of wind blew him in a turbulent tumble towards a huge pot of spaghetti!

“Aaahh!” He fell onto the cold noodles that curled around his body in a springing bounce, tossing him up and outward. A slimy noodle coiled around his neck as he dashed, dangling and gasping over the huge metal pot. “Help!” he wriggled and writhed. “Help!”

Milton’s nose twitched. “Don’t do it, son!” He squeaked to the squirming cockroach hanging by his neck. “Your parents wouldn’t want you to end this way. They loved you. They were looking everywhere for you, but they didn’t stand a chance once the exterminators arrived!”

“Oh, NO!” Brian’s garbled hiss of horror made Milton squeak louder.

“I wanted to bury them before you returned. They’re in that planter now, under the dirt where they won’t get swept away into the trash like the rest of the herd.” Milton’s eyes glistened with tears, compassion.

Suddenly, the slick noodle came loose, sending Brian sliding down into a flailing fall. BANG! His landing was hard, hurting him as he lay in a puddle of miseries. All around him, in the farthest corners of the room, to the nearest legs of the table, lay the executed insects who breathed in the wretched fumes of dark death. “They say that only elephants mourn their dead, but that’s not true. Is it son?” Milton reached out to pull Brian up and onto his back. “Stay on me, you don’t want to be breathing in those toxic gases from those tanks.” 

“Who’s they?” Brian sniveled, his legs sticking into the fury backside of his old friend, Milton the rat.

“Mankind, the very beings that sprayed the poisons to destroy insects in their home, the ones who set traps to eliminate rodents, capture animals, and feast on the flesh of creatures.” he squeaked, hopping up over the drawers to reach the open windowsill. 

“What am I going to do now?” Brian wept, staring at the two lumps of soil beneath the flower petals. “Mom and dad are gone and it’s all my fault.” He cried, gazing through the blur of bereavement toward the burial site of his parents.

“It’s not your fault. Your parents knew the tanks were coming this day. It all happened sooner than they had anticipated and when they knew that you’d escaped, they were happy. They died in each other’s embrace.” Milton relayed all that he recalled spying on the couple from the rafters above. 

“How do you know all that?” Brian asked in hiccupping wonderment.

“I know everything that goes on within these walls,” Milton answered, his nose twitching between his long gray whiskers. “And it’s time for you to find a new home. You cannot remain here any longer. It’s too dangerous now with all the poison leaking into crevasses.”

“I’m scared. I don’t know anyone, I don’t have any parents anymore...” he stammered in a fright. “Where will I go? What will I do? Nobody cares about me,” he trembled, wishing his parents were still alive. 

“I care,” Milton squeaked. “We’ll go together. Maybe it’s time for me to find a new home, too.” he said, “Hold on tight!” he squealed loudly as they scurried down along the water pipes of the building. The storm swirled and twirled dirt, twigs, leaves, and trash in every direction, but Brian held on to Milton’s back, burrowing his belly onto the warm saddle of his staunch size. He was glad in his heart that the old orphaned rat loved him. They were both orphans now. It didn’t matter where they ventured off to, only that they were together as friends, as family. Brian pondered the notion happily.

“Hold on tight, Brian the brave!” Milton squeaked, scurrying along the water-rushing gutters. “It’s a huge world out here, but together we’ll make it our home!”

“Yes, Milton! And one day, we’ll inherit the earth and crawl all over in the daylight, too!” Brian’s hollering hisses made Milton’s strides giddy as he raced through the streets searching for their new home.

“All the trash will be ours,” Milton cried in a loud squeak. “Never again will we have to hide hungry in darkness!”

Brian’s antennae stood straight upward. He had said those very words to his mother once! He knew then that Milton, the old rat, had always been a true friend. Maybe Milton would find a horde and he, well, if he didn’t find a herd to join, at least they would have each other.