Mother

At first, I barely even noticed. We never had a bug-free home. One of the perks of Grandpa building the addition himself back in the 90s. Huge water bugs, intimidating wasps, and annoying mosquitos were always inconvenient but never unexpected. And whenever it rained, we were sure to get a few lost rolly pollys. So of course our bathroom, with 20-plus years of water damage and no vent, was bound to have some miniature travelers pass through. At first, I carried them outside by hand. Soon more visited, and I began to gather them in a damp paper towel. Then I would fold it enough so they couldn't run but they also wouldn't be hurt. It was just so I could carry all of them outside without one being left behind. But again their numbers increased, and not all of them made it. I took the ones still alive in the morning outside and swept up the carcasses. They made it outside as well but further out in the yard. Morning and night, I began to do this ritual. Each time my heart hurt for the tiny isopods. I could not explain why. My sympathy only extended for these tragic creatures in my bathroom.

2am one night, nature called. I wandered into the bathroom only to find a mass grave site. I could hardly see the floor. Tears pooled in my eyes as I took them out dustpan by dustpan. As I lay to rest the last of the fallen, I crouch down and close my eyes. The tears still escape, "why have so many of you succumbed to death together? It was so close to morning! I could have taken you to the dew-covered stump if only you guys had waited a little while longer". I stayed there, silently mourning alone. It was so silent I heard my eardrums pulse. Before long I began to feel the pulse too. Like the slow beat of a kick drum. I felt it, a presence above me. I kept my eyes shut. Two stick-like appendages tickled across my back. With each movement, I could feel the power and weight behind them. Slowly they moved off of me, and I could hear them comb through the grass. Suddenly they stopped. A sound came out. It was the sound of a giant in grief. A sob overtook my lungs as I fully collapsed into the ground. We sat in sorrow together. I grieved as a stranger and they grieved as a mother.