Dear Dead Bug,
Mr. Bug, I have been watching you for days, weeks now. When I first encountered you, you were in front of the toilet face down, as if napping on the cold white tiles. I sat, first contemplating life, minding my own business, then my eyes fell on your stock still shell. I couldn’t tell if you were alive or dead. Playing dead or barely alive, I waited for something to happen. Nothing. I saw you as Gregory. Literary, literal, lying there. Waiting for something to happen.
Five days later I saw you again, my bathroom bug. You were still there. This time upside down, legs stiff and stuck. Dead. Very much so. Thoughts turned to deciding your demise. Did you starve to death? Was it a cleaning solution that did you in? Either way, I expected you gone the next time housekeeping came along. With a broom I pictured someone pushing you out of the way, scooping you up. Throwing you away without a second thought.
Day 19 you are still here. Still upside down, still dead. At this point I really don’t care how you died. I’m more concerned about the cleaning crew. How could they miss you? That doesn’t say much for sanitation. If they can’t remove a visible bug what are they doing about invisible germs? I have something new to think about. Just not in the bathroom.