SHADS
They descended from the heavens like a biblical plague. At least that is how it appears to most people. The truth is, they rise up from the depths of the lakes, more Gojira than locust.
They live for a day, 24 brief hours that see them carried forth on the winds so they might settle onto houses, streets, and cars; onto whatever surfaces they can cling to, before they eventually die.
They have no mouths, so they do not eat. They are not like an infestation of tent caterpillars that can strip a forest clean. The Shads have very little to offer the world, besides a source of food for the fish in the lake and the birds in the trees.
Still, these tiny winged creatures can strike fear into the heart of a town.
At night, the swarm to the lights, making everything a dark fishy green. By morning, the world is covered in the ineffectual stink of their dead and dying carcasses.
Mounds of them amass by doors and on windows, they cover the streets making them greasy and slick, and devoid of traction.
Bikes slide out from under riders and cars glide brakelessly into those fortunate enough to have found traction to stop.
These creatures are not a threat, but their dangers are evident and impossible to ignore. They are silent killers that overwhelm by sheer volume rather than brute strength.
The plague starts with one or two. You might notice them on a sidewalk late one night. That is the only notice you will get that they have returned, those early scouts sent out to see that the city remains a safe haven from the fishy terrors of the lake.
It begins that way, year after year, after year.
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