Pieces and flakes of skeletons were floating on the sea now. The shore was a viscid spread of inert refuse, a roach-turbulent repository of misery beyond agony. There was no way for a mind to encompass the atrocity. It was the excrescence of Nature gone evil. Evil beyond barbarism, beyond cruelty. It was deed beyond excoriation, curse or damnation. It was Damnation itself. It was an apocalypse of Nature’s mindless enormity, and Reed Brockshaw’s own Gethsemane. Fish would feed on strange fruit this day.
Who would have thought that cockroaches could inspire such an epic / biblical description.
"Fish will feed on strange fruit this day." .... Indeed.
