Decay- an old memory, from childhood perhaps.
… How was this bug still alive after everything that happened? The fire. The crumbling buildings. Everything being destroyed so great that not even the sturdiest of roaches could survive. Yet, there was this cockroach that Oogie hoped met its demise wandering around the forest in a daze probably.
The sack’s stubs curled up automatically as the sockets narrowed. The body immediately stepping back and keeping its stitched mouth shut.
Oogie paused. This roach was the cause of it all. The stress. The insults. The way it changed its tune the moment Oogie gained power. And now with his hard-earned title meaningless and Oogie himself was much larger than the last time he’d seen the roach, his rage fueled him to step forward.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The burlap sack walked toward the cockroach, its footsteps heavy and loud to the sole insect. Once Oogie was practically a foot away, he stopped, inhaled sharply, and bent down while glaring at the culprit.
His voice, a deep and strong Southern drawl, sneered. “Hey, Pops.”
