Gone, but not forgotten

It's called Faslane. A highly lethal, environmentally unfriendly (it says so with admirable honesty on the packet) insecticide, probably banned in most of Europe. Greece, bless it, allows pharmacists to sell it with impunity. The chemist warned me that it was expensive, and at twenty euros it was. I went home and read the enclosed instruction leaflet, which informed me that the contents of one tube were enough to decockroach nine average flats. I used half the tube in my one underaverage-sized flat in the next twenty minutes.

Later I began to feel queasy. My stomach was churning. I have a phobia of toxic chemicals. I convinced myself I had somehow accidentally ingested some of the Faslane. The information leaflet informed me, encouragingly, that in cases of accidental ingestion, there is no antidote. All medical science can do is treat the symptoms and then leave you to hope for the best. Eventually I managed to reason with myself. The only way I could have ingested any of the poison would be to have accidentally licked behind the radiator or got my tongue stuck in the crack between the door frame and the wall. I knew both of these events were unlikely to have happened, at least without my remembering them, and calmed down.


I awoke the next morning and staggered into the kitchen, desperate for the swig of orange juice that kickstarts my system just after I wake up. As I entered the kitchen, a cockroach fell from the ceiling to the floor with an audible thud . The fall stunned it. It never awoke. Over the next few days the carnage continued apace. I found them everywhere. In my cutlery drawer, under my fridge, behind the washing machine. Faslane sends cockroaches into a state of lethargy. Then their vital signs begin to weaken. Ouzo does the same, and far more cheaply, but Faslane adds death to its list of side effects. My kitchen was awash with lethargic cockroaches for days afterwards. Then it was full of dead ones, each day requiring several gruesome sessions with the broom lest I tread on one, barefoot, as I always am at home. Next there was a brief period when only immature cockroaches were still evident, presumably hatched after the parents had expired and making a defiant last stand from their final enclave under my kettle. Then there were none. For two days now I have not seen a single one. Is this the end? Or are they merely taunting me? I shall let you know.

Good night, each. Kalhnyxta se olous sas. Nos da i chi gyd.