The Death of Rats

______________________________

 

 

Dear Rev,

 

Here's the breakdown:

 

 

 

"the theory of relativity is deceptive"

 

thast bit's all mine

 

"Read between the lungs"

 

=a play on 'read between the lines'. Doesn't mean much, othe rthan I was referring to hte heart

 

"Dragons are crunchy and taste like ketchup"

 

=parody of the 'Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons...'. yadda yadda sasying, 'cos I always liked Gandalf's words better.

Plus, the idea of dragons tasting like ketchup made me giggle.

Still does.

 

 

"Dense like hardwood"

 

mine.

 

"Splintered like glass"

 

mine, but led into tghe thought train for the next line1-

 

"Burning rubber"

 

take that with "splintered like galss", it's a play on the lines "I'll be burnin rubber, you'll be kissin my ass", from Get bhe Partyy Started by Pink.

 

 

"Still looking for it

Found out where it was"

 

mine

 

"What a long, strange drip it's been"

 

paraphrasing ...dammit, just forgot his name...gateful dead...why do I keep thinking of Jimmy Hoffa...fuzzy guy... he's dead...

Ah well. Fellow who used to lead sing for the Grateful Dead, said :"Sometimes the light's all shingin on me, othe rtimes, I can barely see; lately , it occurs to me, what a long, starnge, trip it's been"

 

My tweaked comment refers to m'reliance on coffee for mental clarity

 

What was his @#$%&ing name? GAH!

 

 

"dry tears"

 

Mine. Meant to put reade rin mind of trying to suss whethe r I was aksin someone to dry their tears, or referring to the oxymoron of someone's teras being dry, or whether someone's tears had dried up

 

"this is where my pen begins"

 

= play on the line "this is where your book begins" from Natasha Bedingfield's song "Unwritten"

Not really sure what I menat by it, but the general idea was that it referred to the origin of myy imagination

 

"rest perchance to believe"

 

= play on Shakespeare's line from...whatever it was... "to sleep. perchance, to dream"

 

Had a meaning, can't think of it atm.

 

 

Anywho, thgere's your papr trail. Now, minfd if I ask you what upset you so about this piece? I can tell yer bugged, but in reading your explanation of how & why, I still don't get it...

 

Help a fella out?

 

 

Sincerely,

1

 

the theory of relativity is deceptive

Read between the lungs

Dragons are crunchy and taste like ketchup

 

 

2

 

Dense like hardwood

Splintered like glass

Burning rubber

 

 

3

 

Still looking for it

Found out where it was

What a long, strange drip it's been

 

 

4

dry tears

this is where my pen begins

rest perchance to believe

Zariah made her way to the nearest buffet table to give the food and drink a quick once over for a cleanup time and effort estimate.

 

On seeing one bowl of punch *move*, however, she did a doubletake and stared at the tiny black-robed form louning in the icy red liquid.

 

The Grim Squeaker gave her a nonchalant little wave and thumbs up (though how exactly he had acquired thunbs *still* was unknown to the mortal world at large).

 

It was at this point she decidedf to instead chat with the band about pack-up.

A raven centerpiece stred woodenly at her as she walked briskly past it sitting there, looking hslighjtly silly in its'new red bowtie,

A zombie, grayed flessh (as weell as misshing many chunnks of it) glassy eyed expression a nd all, dtressed in a frenmch maids unifoorm shamnbles and stumbleds its way inn throiugh the hole, awqkwardly shooving and floppping a broom about. as Gyrfalcon movess swiftly and geracefully aboiut the wteckage to excamine it, he noticesd veryu faamilar bloch of post it note afixed too its, uuh, blouse.

 

It reads:

 

_____________________________________________

Soorry bout that.

 

Sincerely,

The Grim Squeaker's weirdly glowuing eye sockets glint in acceptance of the hammers. Before disapperaring with both, however, both are dropped from a fifteen-foor height onto Peredhil's keyobaord, and the Death of Rats sketches a small bow to first Elrond, the Zool, then Ayshela, and vanishe sin a puff of illogic.

smallmindedfoulmouthedselfishshoutingoutlovemeImallthatsworthwhile oughttobekickedandsquareinthehead andinstylevilechildwhydoyourileIdonotunderstandbutleavemealoneforawhileand

youmayetliveyouandyourcroniessobigandsophonythinkthattheyhaveall

theanswersfrombeginningtoendtheylistentoyoursbutnowhenyoudisagreewith

themyousaythatyourethevictimyoustandandcryfoulwhenyoureffortstoundermine

usallforyourownedificationareshowneventoyoureyestobeshallow

 

Damn you.

 

And have a nice day.

the easstern wall. Folk begin to search for it's source, but to no avail. It continues unabated, garting on the ears at almost a spirptial level.

 

Afetr many minutes pass, it stops. People shrug their shoulders, remark on it quizically, but let the moment pass.

 

...until a minute later, when the noise begins againl; in the same rhythm, same pitch, same eberythingf- excpet that it now seem s to have moved to the opposite end of the hall.

 

After al but one minute of the total elapsed time the frist scraping noisses has passed, it finaly clicks into place in someone's heasd that the rhythm, as well a sthe sound (slightly) reminds of them of the sound of sawing...even as the support columsn on that wall begin to creak ominously mere momnets before collapsing and rashing to the floor in a thunderign fury of stone, woodwork, and dust which takes tnhe entire wall with it.

 

Fortunately, only a wandering monk, a shadow puppet who had just been granted life by a very, VERY drunk blue fairy, a feral badger, and the Katzenjammer kids are killed.

 

the rest, inexplicably, only get a very, VERY irritating single speck of dust inb their eye.

The Death of Rats, as unusual a situation as it was to be in, seemed completely unperturbed by Ozymandias' vise grip round its' neck. The only thing that seemed to be having any effetc, was indeed the tirade of eptithets, curses, and half-passing out minute-long kectures on how one should and should not treat a lady.

 

On some levels, it had heard more than enough of such things when it wandered through Orlan's boudoir.

 

The rest of it, however, could only shrug helplessly, even as it's small body was shaken back and forth like some ghastly bone wind chime in a high wind that some dear, deranged chikld had decided to play dress-up with (though the Death of Rats had not seen Minta in months, to be whiolly accurate).

 

For the first time in its' existence, the Grim Squeaker looked sheepish at a verbal assault. No mean feat, especially for it- you try it at that point in your corporeal existence when *you* have no flesh on your skull, and see how far *you* get.

*claps softly, toebones clicking somewhat*

Three or four hordes of rats and mice in a sewer somewhere, The Grim Squeaker finally came to his final charge, a rather unique transparent rat standing next to its mortal form, but looking not at all at its body.

 

Its uniqueness was in that it seemed to be letting fly with the shrill, stacatto squeaking of ghostly rat laughter. This stopped the Death of Rats in some concern.

 

Concerned, rather than affront or outright anger; for while it was certainly capable of either, it felt no such annoyance for yet another charge that was simply going to be sent on its way.

 

Not surprise either, because the Death of Rats had never learned how to be surprised. He was simply no good at it.

 

He was also not confused, because when he encountered something he didn't understand, he simply accepted it and moved on. The Grim Squeaker's was not in even the smallest sense a questioning nature - besides, he could always count on one of Death's retinue or Death himself to explain anything he needed to know.

 

"Squeak," the ghostly rat said, once it had regained its composure.

 

"SQUEAK," replied the Grim Squeaker crypically. "Squeak," the rat insisted.

 

"SQUEAK," the Grim Squeaker said sternly.

 

"Squeak!", the rat urged, pointing animatedly at the Death of Rats' hood.

 

"SQUEAK," was the Death of Rats' final reply before raising its' scythe and sending this now irksome spirit to the next rodent life.

 

To be fair, any observer at hand (had there been any) would have agreed with the rat. The Death of Rats looked extremely silly wearing a bow tie, and it was unfathomable why he would be wearing one.

 

More than fifteen years later, the Death of Rats ambled past the fully grown fig tree in Death's front yard.

 

As it kicked a dried fig out of its path, the elusive memory suddenly returned from that long ago day he argued with a rat.

 

He hurried off with all speed.

 

Thanks to the nature of his own particular immortal life (as well as his memory) the Grim Squeaker was indeed able to make good on what would have been, for most mortals, a broken promise.

 

What Katzaniel could not figure out at all, however, was why a bow tie clad and rose* -bearing Grim Squeaker showed up at her door that day in August of 2003**.

 

 

*philosophically speaking

** Earth year

Looking vexedly at the small Fig tree sapling it had planted outside Death's home several months ago, The Grim Squeaker tried and failed to recall its' significance. H e knew dates were of vital importance somehow, but couldn't quite put his fleshless toe on it.*

 

With a shrug of tiny shoulders, it absently squeaked a greeting to Binky, Death's horse (who was not, in fact, pale. He is in reality, quite dark.) as it checked it's minscule lifetimers, watching intently as the sand poured inexorably downward through the various glasses. Noticing one sizeable batch that seemed to have all started to hit their last grains of sand once- it was over four dozen lifetimers strong and expanding in number rapidly- it decided to head there, wherever that was, njext.

 

 

 

 

 

*The Death of Rats, unlike his master, Death, could actually remember the past, as well as the ability they both had to remember the future. His memory of the past, however could be as best qualified as 'spotty as a leopard'.

new line: "Pickles are bittersweet"

[New line: Welcome to the madhouse]

Welcome to the madhouse

the mice have eaten all the cats

or was it that the mailmen

finally learned to relax

it's unhinged here; that' why

it doesn't open too easily

 

The world looks on

and sees a place that

they find so unbelievable

that it remains invisible

to their eyes

 

We look on in sadness

as they plod through

their logical lives

so chained, so sad,

so downtrodden

 

While we with our white rabbits;

are topsy-turvy masters

of sea, earth, and sky

[line: When I lost my self to you]

,wHEN i LOST MYSELF TO YOU

i C'OULDNT FIGURE WHERE;

i WENT DI'DNT KNOW WHERE

tO LOOK i SEARCHED THROUGH,

aLL MY OLD HAUNTS

tHE PAGES OF EVERY BOOK

?aT THE POOL HALL

nOONE THERE

eXCEPT THE MIDNIGHT SMOKERS

?iN THE LOCAL SHOPPING MALL

nAUGHT BUT MALLRATS AND TOKERS;

i ASKED EVERYONE

fROM cONAN dOYLE TO aSIMOV

eVEN LOOKED UNDERNEATH THE n64

WHEN i W'ASNT AT THE ps2

i C'OULDNT FIGURE WHERE iD' GOT OFF

uNTIL finally, I saw myself

At new haunts,

exploring new pages,

playing new games,

finding new joy

with you.

"You can't slow this down"

You can't slow this down not at all it's not gonna stop round and round and round she goes spinning like a top the table flings the drinks around the warmth the mirth spreads as it goes down the rush the hustle the bustle the race it too has such a heady pace you run you dance you slide you fall it's dizzy it's frantic it's gay it's free from here it looks like such a fun ride

any room for me?

 

 

Awk!

Dogs and pigs like rubber duckies

The fleas in my elbows sit and drink slushies

as they sit around all in the bath the day long

While someone's gone and set us up the bomb

Death flies everwhere;

we sit complacanet without a care

It's not us expiring out there

so it doesn't matter

But the moose know,

so they cry, and they die

Gopherchuks.

 

"KIIIIII-AIII!", quoth Mecha ninja bunny. A fatal mistake, as ninjas who scream very loudly just before an attack have a history of getting beat like drums. Mecha ninjitsu or no mecha Ninjitsu.

Came upon this a bit randomly (hence the date gap inbetween my post and the last one... ), but wanted to extend my kudos to ye all the same, Doom.

 

Not only is this very smoothly lyrical, the rhyme and meter you used in here very much made it feel like a song to the point that I'm *still* sitting here hearing the vague seed of its' tune in my head (only vague, sadly, because I'm no composer).

 

I also empathize quite a bit with it. The poem reminds me very much of how I felt after I cheated on someone for the first time. Quite a hollowed-out pain.

 

Very well written.

SQUEAK, comments the Death of Rats absently from it's perch on Mynx' shoulder as it continues to gnaw on a lit fircracker.

The anthropomorphization of the Death of Rats sprints past, carrying a runnign chainsaw over its' head, with a lit firecracker clenched in its' teeth.

By the time the three (now feeling less put-upon, but still somewhat miffed) more-or-less original booth attendants have gotten themselves (specifically, their eyes) clear of pie AGAIN, they all three realize that the Death of Rats is not only absent from his post at their signpost, he is now nowhere to be seen.

 

This state of mild concern for all three lasts exactly four seconds, before Zool's eyes glint in mischievious triumph as he quietly points out the sight he has seen approaching (about six inches or so barely from the ground).

 

The Grim Squeaker, The Great Squeaker, Priest to the left side of the priest to the left side...ahhh, I'm tired and it's too damn many preiests in the way anyway...ambles in the direction of the kissing booth with an almost jaunty step.

 

The most striking portion beyond its normal strange appearance is the pair of ninja blacks pants it seems to be dragging behind it like a hunting trophy, made stranger still by the fact that they seem to be human-sized, still have the empty sheaths for two Sai blades attached to them, as well as a brownish banana peel stuck to the back back of the pants (right above, in fact, two unidentifiable large puncture holes that seem to be dead center in the seat of the pants...).

 

There is a weird gleam in the gleam in The Grim Squeaker's eye sockets as it proudly fastens the pants to the bare portion of the Kissing Booth's signpost like a flag...fastening it with what seems to be the remains of a pie tin...

At tyhat selfsame moment, Quoth the raven swoops down next to the Raven.

 

"'ey! Starnger! Thought y'might like t'know that lass Minta's got some lovely eyeballs she says she's not usin'. Follow me, I'll show oyu!"

<insert mystical and mysterious means of escpae here>

 

The Death of Rats watches with some interest form several feet away, byt the signpost.

Shrugging, as Raven begins to glow, it returns fixedly to ganwing lightly on the psot and paying an inordinate amount of attention to onlookers with pies.

Random passerby #242 passes by just then (ironic, eh?), and notices, the Grim Squeaker's plight. Eyes going wide with wonder, he stoops down as low as he may., and coos as mauseatingly as any new parent:

 

"OOHHHHH, WOOKIT THE KKKEEEEWT WIDDLE AVATAW OF DEAAAAATH! ISN'T EE PWECIOUIS? YES HE IS! AWWEN'T YOU PWECIOUS! AWWWWW! DOES PWECIOUS WANT TO GO OUT AND PWAY? YES EE DOES!! YESYESYES!" and so, inanely voicinbg and perhaps unwisley deciding, lifts the cvage off the Grim SQueaker.

 

The Death of Rats, grinning as widely as ever ever, still somehow manages to look smug as it glances over at Mynx.

 

"WEW, I GOTTA GO WIDDLE MAN! PWAY NICE NOW!" With that, Random passerby #242 strolls along his merry way, failing to notice the Grim Squeaker trotting quickly after him.

 

Momnet slater, breifly after the two have turned a corner, the enire carnival heras a bloodcurdling "AIAIIAIAIAIIAIAAGHHHHHLLLLLLGGRBBBbppllll...", followed by silnece.

 

Five muntes later, the Death of Rtas wanders back ove rto the Kissing Booth sign post and leans against it (after a quick nibble).