There was a light buzzing sound, then everything went dark on the street, roaches and rats scurried up the gutters into the open apartment windows. One window was wide open, were most of the pests crawled in, where a man slept soundly. The sound of his snoring was unsettling . His snore sounded like someone was tearing through his nasal cavity into his throat with the cut finally prying his mouth open for the finish. A cockroach scuttled over his lips and he aptly opened his mouth, his dark dirty tongue emerged, enveloped the crawler and he swallowed. The air around his head saturated with the stench of halitosis.
In the background a family of rats had congregated on the kitchen counter devouring leftover food on plates from the past three days. The piercing squeaks began to irritate the man. His breathing restored to a regular rhythm, his eyes opened, he looked around, and emerged from the couch he lay on. Then his chubby legs, first off the couch, followed by a disturbing lean frame, lifted from the couch and walked to the kitchen with a sledge hammer he had near the couch and Splat! Splat! in quick succession, he bashed in his counter with three rats left dead and bloody.
He dropped the sledge hammer to the ground; the man looked around scratching his nether regions and yawning. He opened the fridge and pulled out a pack of six cold cans of Tusker, propped himself on the couch and flipped on the TV. He placed the cans right next to him on the couched. He flipped through channel, after channel, he eventually stopped to watch an English premier football league match; Manchester City Vs. Wolverhampton.
He watched in absolute silence, no occasional gasps, cringes or yells, nothing, when the match wrapped up and Man City walked away victorious, he flipped to E! Watched a Fashion Bloggers episode and then switched off the TV. The cans were empty and he headed straight to the bathroom to relieve himself.
He opened his loo to take a whizz and screamed, the first time a form of sound other than his snoring was audible. He had blood all over his boxers, his hands were drenched; he was panicking, tripping all over himself looking for an exit. He kept looking at his groin; blood was squirting out of it like the Jet d’Eau fountain. He wasn’t sure whether to try and stop the bleeding with the grimy tea towels from the kitchen or just scream hysterically; he did the latter, he was so confused.
Lights began to go on in the neighbourhood awoken by his screaming, when people found out whose house it was coming from, the lights went off as fast as they had come on. Edd, lay there bleeding from his groin, draining the colour first out of his face and soon, just like that, he was gone. As he lay on the ground lifeless a python slithered from under his toilet lid, and past him through the window catching some rats as it slithered down the fire escape.