This nut inspired me to do a little writing and blog reviving. At 2AM. So, enjoy the first part of a spontaneous story.
Rat-boy and Skritch
Chapter One: A Typical Day
A pitter-patter of noise drummed incessantly across the rooftops of the residents of the city of Sideways. It moved from one roof to the other, like a lone and angry storm cloud raining on those who it believed deserved its ire. But rain it was not; The sky was black only with the colour of the night and the smoke that blew always from the familiar factories that loomed over the city like tall and angry overseers. Rat-boy leapt deftly from roof to roof, without a pause for breath or thought; and behind him a sea of feet, fur, eyes and teeth moved in unison. Rat-boy stopped, turned, and tapped his Talking-stick twice. Immediately they stopped and encircled him, all eyes on the conductor of the symphony.
One rat, much larger and hairier than the others, and with a very distinct bald patch across its left side, walked confidently as it could towards Rat-boy. It, or perhaps his, name was Skritch. Skritch was a rather unusual rat; Not only in physical appearance but in demeanour. Skritch walked forward on two legs, like any man was wont; Skritch eyed Rat-boy levelly, as an equal; and Skritch had a name where even Rat-boy could not remember his own. Skritch was most assuredly not a person; but Skritch did not know that, and one that argued the point would have to deal with a very large creature with very sharp teeth. “I smell food, Skritch. Do you smell it?” Skritch’s whispers twitched, and slowly he nodded. Rat-boy adjusted the saucepan atop his head that served as his war helmet. “You know the plan, Sarge; We hit ‘em fast and we hit ‘em hard, and we leave with enough for all the boys.” Rat-boy saluted, and Skritch returned it, and with one tap of his Talking-stick the troops marched to siege.
Skritch raced down one side of the twisted drab grey tower of metal, half an army of rats half his size in tow, pitter-pattering across gutters and grooves towards the window that was his destination. Rat-boy did the same on the opposite side. Through a window each group went, into the dusty shadows of the tower. Rat-boy raised his nose and sniffed fervently; Skritch did the same. There was food in this tower, real, human food. They were sure of it. “Pestilence! Squalour! Filth! Come out, come out, come out!” the booming bass echo of a Castigator come to defend its keep reverberated across the steel pipes and walls of the tower. “Thieves that do no honest work, you shall be punished. I hear the pitter-patter of your fetid feet. Come out and bear justice!” Hundreds of eyes adjusted to the light. Like a practiced drill, Rat-boy raised his Talking-stick and hit it repeatedly on his helmet, causing the echo of loud metallic clangs, to match those of the Castigator's footsteps. The monstrous, cantankerous Castigator lumbered towards the Rat-boy. It was more metal than flesh; grey gauntleted hands as big as Rat-boy’s head, an asynchronous mishmash of screeching steel spikes and metal appendages. Slowly and carefully it stamped its hooves across the ground, yellow eyes glowing like light bulbs, the only sign of organic life the broken mouth and blackened teeth that it used to spew forth threats. “I shall crush you into ground meat and throw you into the Incinerator!”
Like a strike of lightning, Skritch moved into the shadows and towards the source of sustenance. Rat-boy tapped his Talking-stick three times; immediately the rats surrounding him fell upon the body of the Castigator. They scratched at its eyes; bit at its fingers; bore their way into every crevice like a body of malicious water. In truth, they were little more than a nuisance, and many died as the Castigator continued its trek towards the ringleader, slower but yet more infuriated.
However, the time they gained was time enough. Skritch released a high-pitched squeal (“Retreat!”, in his rat mind) and as quickly as they entered Rat-boy and his warriors melted into the shadows and out and away into the city above and below, scrambling for safety among the darkness, Skritch’s rats carrying away the riches of their heist.
Again they converged upon a rooftop, a different one yet not unlike the many others of the city of Sideways. Tonight they had enough to eat, enough to survive. The rats of Sideways chattered impatiently at their promised meal. Rat-boy tapped his stick four times, and instantly there was silence. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes, at the end of which Rat-boy said only this: “Tonight we don’t starve. Tonight we get to eat. I suppose we get to survive. But there are less of us. Those of us that don’t get to survive. Those of us that died so we could. Before we eat… let’s remember them.” And then there was no noise but the pitter-patter of feet and the tearing sound of teeth on meat, of the many who are one, of the rat who is a boy and the boy who is a rat.
Rat-boy and Skritch
Chapter One: A Typical Day
A pitter-patter of noise drummed incessantly across the rooftops of the residents of the city of Sideways. It moved from one roof to the other, like a lone and angry storm cloud raining on those who it believed deserved its ire. But rain it was not; The sky was black only with the colour of the night and the smoke that blew always from the familiar factories that loomed over the city like tall and angry overseers. Rat-boy leapt deftly from roof to roof, without a pause for breath or thought; and behind him a sea of feet, fur, eyes and teeth moved in unison. Rat-boy stopped, turned, and tapped his Talking-stick twice. Immediately they stopped and encircled him, all eyes on the conductor of the symphony.
One rat, much larger and hairier than the others, and with a very distinct bald patch across its left side, walked confidently as it could towards Rat-boy. It, or perhaps his, name was Skritch. Skritch was a rather unusual rat; Not only in physical appearance but in demeanour. Skritch walked forward on two legs, like any man was wont; Skritch eyed Rat-boy levelly, as an equal; and Skritch had a name where even Rat-boy could not remember his own. Skritch was most assuredly not a person; but Skritch did not know that, and one that argued the point would have to deal with a very large creature with very sharp teeth. “I smell food, Skritch. Do you smell it?” Skritch’s whispers twitched, and slowly he nodded. Rat-boy adjusted the saucepan atop his head that served as his war helmet. “You know the plan, Sarge; We hit ‘em fast and we hit ‘em hard, and we leave with enough for all the boys.” Rat-boy saluted, and Skritch returned it, and with one tap of his Talking-stick the troops marched to siege.
Skritch raced down one side of the twisted drab grey tower of metal, half an army of rats half his size in tow, pitter-pattering across gutters and grooves towards the window that was his destination. Rat-boy did the same on the opposite side. Through a window each group went, into the dusty shadows of the tower. Rat-boy raised his nose and sniffed fervently; Skritch did the same. There was food in this tower, real, human food. They were sure of it. “Pestilence! Squalour! Filth! Come out, come out, come out!” the booming bass echo of a Castigator come to defend its keep reverberated across the steel pipes and walls of the tower. “Thieves that do no honest work, you shall be punished. I hear the pitter-patter of your fetid feet. Come out and bear justice!” Hundreds of eyes adjusted to the light. Like a practiced drill, Rat-boy raised his Talking-stick and hit it repeatedly on his helmet, causing the echo of loud metallic clangs, to match those of the Castigator's footsteps. The monstrous, cantankerous Castigator lumbered towards the Rat-boy. It was more metal than flesh; grey gauntleted hands as big as Rat-boy’s head, an asynchronous mishmash of screeching steel spikes and metal appendages. Slowly and carefully it stamped its hooves across the ground, yellow eyes glowing like light bulbs, the only sign of organic life the broken mouth and blackened teeth that it used to spew forth threats. “I shall crush you into ground meat and throw you into the Incinerator!”
Like a strike of lightning, Skritch moved into the shadows and towards the source of sustenance. Rat-boy tapped his Talking-stick three times; immediately the rats surrounding him fell upon the body of the Castigator. They scratched at its eyes; bit at its fingers; bore their way into every crevice like a body of malicious water. In truth, they were little more than a nuisance, and many died as the Castigator continued its trek towards the ringleader, slower but yet more infuriated.
However, the time they gained was time enough. Skritch released a high-pitched squeal (“Retreat!”, in his rat mind) and as quickly as they entered Rat-boy and his warriors melted into the shadows and out and away into the city above and below, scrambling for safety among the darkness, Skritch’s rats carrying away the riches of their heist.
Again they converged upon a rooftop, a different one yet not unlike the many others of the city of Sideways. Tonight they had enough to eat, enough to survive. The rats of Sideways chattered impatiently at their promised meal. Rat-boy tapped his stick four times, and instantly there was silence. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes, at the end of which Rat-boy said only this: “Tonight we don’t starve. Tonight we get to eat. I suppose we get to survive. But there are less of us. Those of us that don’t get to survive. Those of us that died so we could. Before we eat… let’s remember them.” And then there was no noise but the pitter-patter of feet and the tearing sound of teeth on meat, of the many who are one, of the rat who is a boy and the boy who is a rat.
I lost track of who was who >.>
ReplyDeleteBut I liked the prose.
You lost track of three characters? Wow.
ReplyDeletelol Adam.
ReplyDeleteI love this idea so much. It makes me think of the sort of scenery that was in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.