THIS MONTH'S SHOWCASE FEATURES:

FERTILE MATERIAL
DON'T POACH THE ROACH by Dena Harris

THE WRITING LIFE
Writing With a Handicap by Heide A.W. Kaminski

FEATURED CRAFT ARTICLE
Overcoming the Fear of Writing the Synopsis Workshop
by Vicki M. Taylor

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DON'T POACH THE ROACH
Dena Harris Copyright © 2002

The crowd cheered and roared under the blazing July sun. Vendors quickly sold out of ice cream and cold drinks and resorted to charging for water. Parents boosted sweaty children onto their shoulders for a better view of the podium. The T-shirts they wore quickly identified people's passions. "I Love Manatees!" proclaimed one. "Save The Snakes and Kill The Lawyers," begged another.

The Don't Poach the Roach group stood off to one side, waiting for James to take the stage. Although the crowd was in a generous mood, people avoided the group with the smiling cockroach in a pink heart on the front of their shirts. The group clustered around a gray card table piled high with cockroach key chains, bumper stickers, and hard rock candy. They'd given away less than a quarter of their promotional materials. Pamela beat her head against a tree in frustration when she learned the ASPCA had run out of buttons and free T-shirts within their first hour.

"People don't care about the cockroaches," sighed Sally. "They just like the furry animals like kittens and puppies and chickens."

"Chickens aren't furry, you moron," snapped Pamela.

As co-founders of Don't Poach the Roach, James and Pamela often found themselves bemoaning the lack of quality offered them in club members. Taking the Roach Oath to love, serve, and protect was a surefire step onto the path of societal outcast. James and Pamela had to take what they could get.

"Don't call me a moron, you clip," said Sally. "I just meant those animals are cute and cuddly. Cockroaches are more . . . ."

"What?" asked Pamela, narrowing her eyes.

"You know," said Sally. "More . . . gross."

***

"There he is!" Pamela clutched the hands of Sally and Jake.

James strode confidently to the microphone. As he waited for the crowd to quiet, his eyes met Pamela's. This was it. Their years of sacrifice were about to pay off.

"There is a war going on," James said, his voice reverberating high above the crowd. "A war against God's creatures who are innocent and defenseless and who have done nothing to provoke the malice shown toward them." The crowd cheered.

"We too must enter this war," said James. His blue eyes shone with love. "But we must enter on the side of the innocent, and fight to protect and cherish them." Pennants waved frantically in agreement.

As James continued talking, Tommy - the youngest member of the group - stared thoughtfully at the raised cockroach banner. He nudged Pamela.

"Maybe we could like, paste some fur on them," he whispered. "You know, like shave a golden retriever and use all that hair to make them, like, cute."

Pamela's glare cut through him and he quickly took a step back. Sally patted his shoulder.

James was wrapping up. The crowd was behind him 100%, chanting, "War! War! War!"

"I . . ." James' voice caught and he choked back tears. "I can't tell you what your support means to me and those I work with," said James. He took a deep breath and went for it. "Now is the time for us to be strong together. It is time to end the reign of madness of the Terminix man!" He raised a fist in triumph.

The crowd paused in mid-chant. James didn't notice. He was back in childhood, remembering the day his dad had been hired by Terminix. He'd fired his death spray on James' collection of bugs, centipedes and, tragically, James' beloved roach Skyler. James was haunted by the image of Skyler belly up on the kitchen floor, legs pointing to the heavens. His dad called it ironic justice. Alone late at night, James still cried.

"People!" James now wailed. "Terminix has started a new advertising campaign to rid your homes and offices of our planet's most precious creature, the cockroach! Such evil cannot go unpunished. This is a call to arms! Go to your homes and grab your guns, your bats, your mace, and we will purge the earth once and for all of the evil of this race!" He wept openly on the stage.

A murmur ran through the crowd. The organizer of the event frantically flipped through her booking chart.

As armed off-duty cops escorted James off the stage Sally sighed and patted Pamela's arm.

"Tommy's right," she said. "We should have pasted fur on them."

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DENA HARRIS was the winner of the FEAR OF WRITING short story contest at Krista Barrett's wonderful website, Writer Gazette. Dena is the recipient of a signed copy of Fear of Writing.