Prose 500 Longlist, Mok Jiak Hoong

 My Enemy

A cockroach of enormous proportions lingered high above the air conditioning unit out of reach, daring me to make a move on it.

I was determined to wage a war on this mortal enemy of mine, taking it down by all means possible. At slightly over a metre tall, there was no way I could reach it. I sought help from Granny.

“Pass me the broom!” Granny commanded. I dashed to the kitchen and handed the broom to Granny. She wielded the broom like a sword and swept the cockroach in a broad downward motion. Instead of landing on the floor, the cockroach spread its wings and launched a sneak kamikaze attack on us.

  I held my hands over my head to dodge the attack, cursing the invader. But Granny was unfazed. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the enemy. “Go! Stand in front of the altar to protect it!” Granny ordered. I took comfort in her voice, grateful to be assigned a role in this all-out war against my adversary.

Granny eyed the cockroach’s path of flight. Like a softball player waving her bat, she directed the cockroach towards the swirling fan. Smack! The cockroach’s wings were clipped by the fan and it landed on the floor. I clapped my hands and celebrated…too early. The dreaded enemy paddled its legs in the air, attempting to flip over with its antennae anchoring it. Surprisingly, it did and skedaddled on the tiled floor.

“Go and bring the dustpan!” thundered Granny.  Without delay, I scrambled and grabbed the dustpan.

“Now, cover the cockroach with the dustpan.”

I did as I was told. Granny removed the dustpan and stepped onto the cockroach with her bare feet. I thought I heard a squash sound under her feet. Like a drunkard, the cockroach skittered and crawled out beneath her feet. I let out a squeak.

“Cover up the cockroach again!” Granny’s voice shook me into action. I aimed my dustpan at the dreaded insect. This time, granny used a slipper and slapped onto it with zeal. In Chinese, there's a phrase called da bu si de zhang lang, meaning a cockroach which escapes death. However, any cockroach is no match for Granny’s 80 years of dexterity, wisdom and skill. 

The black figure skedaddled across our living room tiles, leaving a trail of innards before its legs made their final struggle in the air and stopped moving. 

Granny raised her broom and swept the dead cockroach into the dustpan. Smiles of triumph radiated on our faces.