The Rats

Others Stories | Dec 3, 2013 | 6 min read
28 Votes, average: 4 out of 5

The sound we choose to ignore... is but grim fate, knocking at our door.

Within mysterious, dark alleys, lies the world of a dying man. Coughing blood onto his sleeve, he extinguishes the last of his salvaged cigarette butts, then lays down on the cold, brick paved alleyway, staring up at heaven... so very far away. And while sounds of an automotive society echoes off the walls, tires screeching, engines roaring, the feeble man in ragged attire, only felt silence… dreadful silence, seeping in with the cold dampness of the concrete, chilling his bones.

With his eyes, such intense pools of sorrow, he bestowed the darkening sky. "The clouds are a deeper gray now," he uttered, short winded, "Soon the shadows will come, and with it…? …the tiny, little teeth of death ripping." Gathering what fleeting strength he still possessed, he leaned over and reach for his last, beloved possession.

Resting it on his belly, he admired the beautiful wood carvings, of his old, antique radio. "Many good times we shared, old friend," he whispered while caressing the ivory dials, "Many good times indeed."

It was the warm glow of dusty vacuum tubes, he cherished the most. And despite no batteries, nor outlets to plug into, the radio always sang to him. Why? He never wondered. No one ever wonders why the sun shines. And also true, no one ever wonders why they feel loved... only when it has gone.

Through desperate and lean times, the radio was there for him. So long, that he couldn't remember where he had got it. It was there when he was a boy, caring for him through his father's drunken rages, while he hid beneath the rotting box springs of his sagging bed. And it was that soft warm glow, the beckoning of light in his wilderness of the dark that comforted him, when his wife strayed and fell into the arms of another.

So many times he danced, with booze upon his breath; holding the radio as if it was his best girl; swaying to the soft melody, never-minding the silhouettes of lovers in the windows above the shops. It was these times, when happiness seemed possible... even if the music was only in his head.

And when he fell tired, and needed sleep, it was his angel of circuitry that kept the rats away. Ah, but as the years have gone, his heart grew feeble. And the rats hiding in the looming shadows gathered in greater numbers. First it was but a few. He could have easily swatted them away himself, if they ever dared wander too close. But soon he found, staring off into the shadows too difficult, with the ever multiplying pairs of eyes. "Best to never mind them," he thought, "The music keeps them away, and that's all that matters right now."

Several times since his descent from a modest life into the filth of skid-row, he tried sleeping in different places. He wandered the streets and alleys, trying to shake the vermin. But, it seemed only a matter of time before the rats would find him. "And everywhere the old man went... the rats were sure to go!" Singing to himself, with a grim chuckle.

As the alley darkened, the man decided it was time for his music. "Soon..." he called out to the assembling rats, screeching and scampering, "Soon... perhaps even tonight, I will finally die. You little bastards can do what you want with me, then... But not while my heart still beats... not while there is music!" Dramatically he flicked the dial. But to his bewildering dismay, the radio did not turn on.

"What's wrong with you?" He cried, tapping, and shaking the radio. Finally he saw a soft glow and was momentarily relieved. But there was no sound. Horrified, he watched through the back grill of the box, as the glowing tube softly faded away. "That's a sad goodbye if I ever saw one," he uttered, lifting his head to the black abyss. He could almost feel the hungry rats mocking him. Even their little squeaks felt like laughter.

The man tried to get to his feet, but felt too week... too dizzy. "So be it then... there comes a time when a man can simply love no more." He set the box down beside him, and brushed it lightly. "Goodbye old friend... Guess I'll see you in my dreams." He then reached into his coat for his flask; thinking he would simply accept his fate, and drink himself unconscious. But after one swig of rotgut, he began coughing up phlegm that burned in the back of his throat, as if it were battery acid.

He spat up what he could, then, tried staring up at the now starlit sky. All seemed calm at first, but he became alarmed by the silhouettes of rodents, racing across the ledge of the buildings. "My God, they're huge!" He cried. He then looked around, and saw hundreds, if not thousands, of red beady eyes gazing upon him. Suddenly, like vomit pouring down the gutter pipes and flowing over the dumpsters, screaming rats scampered madly towards him.

"I cannot watch!" He thought closing his eyes tightly. But then... as if projected on the inside of his eyelids, he saw his wife's face... turning and twirling, moaning in ecstasy as strange hands caressed the soft parts of her body... the soft parts that were once, for him alone. The vision seemed just as real and tormenting as the rats themselves.

He finally opened his eyes to the rats which threatened to engulf him. Screaming wildly, he threw his flask, causing them to scurry away. But only momentarily, for soon they regrouped, as even more rats seemed to be trickling out from the walls. With his grime packed nails, he dug out a brick from the ground and flung it, yelling, "Fuck You! You filthy little bastards! Why can't you just leave me alone? You vile... disgusting rodents!"

But his rage did not deter them. In fact, it only served to weakened him all the more. Wheezing heavily he flopped back down, while the screaming rats seized upon him like an angry swarm of locusts. He closed his eyes once more, and watched the dirty little movie in his head. He saw masculine arms now... holding her, while teeth, like tiny scissors, cut away at the vulnerable parts of his body.

He felt as though what he was seeing was happening right now. As if it were an apparition of some kind. The woman who had once taken his hand in marriage, was being man-handled like some cheap whore, while he was helplessly being torn to shreds by hungry rodents. So much for promises. So much for poetic justice, and the reward for passive humility.

It had become clear to him, as he bit down on the rat that had his tongue; that there was no God, watching over him. There was no right or wrong - nor silver lining in the clouds of deeper gray. No salvation or remorse. Not the slightest show of empathy. There was only suffering... then death. It plays you like a mouse, you see. Then... when you're too weak to fight anymore, it devours you.

From within the moving, black mass of rats crawling over rats, the man reached out. And with fleeting hope, he caressed the radio dial softly. As if... just wanting to hear the music once more. Defeated, he relaxed his fingers, and surrendered to the rats. For the music he so loved... was only, ever in his head.

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Reviews

Al Dec 4, 2013

very calming tone, showed that the man was at ease, waiting for his time; heck he even chose the place to die! loved it.

Al Dec 4, 2013

very calming tone, showed that the man was at ease, waiting for his time; heck, he even chose the place to die! loved it.

Richard Schnelzer Dec 4, 2013

Thanks :)

Richard Schnelzer Dec 4, 2013

Thanks for liking it :) yeah I seldom add twists to my stories. I don'tknow why, just how they turn out.

Velma golden Dec 4, 2013

Hello,very good story,even tho I knew the outcome,It still held my interest,hoping that it would have a surprise ending, but still very good. Keep up the writing,and Good Luck

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