The rats are finally here, thank the broken sky. We have waited so long and the rats are finally here. We have bitten our fingernails bloody and chewed the skin from our fingertips in anticipation, but, at last, the rats are finally here, thank the broken sky.
Q. How long have you waited for the rats to come?
A. We have waited as long as we can comfortably remember, but the rats come in their own time. We have prepared the way, crafting a place for the rats with shredded cardboard, building up nooks for their hiding, passages for their scurrying. We have prepared offerings of canned fruits and memorized the recipes for breads and fragrant cheeses, all the best our civilization could offer the rats. We have waited so long for them to arrive.
Q. How did you know the rats had arrived?
A. We heard a lovely scratching inside the walls, which at first was soft and lonesome. We thought that we had imagined this scratching (it would not have been the first time), but those faint scuttles gave way to clear sounds we could hear and measure. We used our stethoscopes and knew their bodies through our walls, their beautiful claws on the old wood, their short fur blessing beds of cardboard, the pleased teeming of their mouths, moist for our offerings of canned fruits, breads, and fragrant cheeses. We praised the broken sky.
Q. What sort of rats have come?
A. When we have seen them crawling along the eaves at night, they have been brown, a lovely deep brown, and we think they are Norway rats, but whatever their type, they are here now, thank the broken sky. We have waited so long, and have tried so hard to be patient, but in truth our minds have wandered. We did our work, of course, as we all must, shredding the cardboard, the newspaper, opening cans of fruit, baking the bread, aging the fragrant cheese. Still, we would weep with fear that the rats might never come, and in our weeping, we found no sleep.
Q. Why have you so anticipated the coming of the rats?
A. When the sky was broken, what was left to us but waiting for the rats to come? We used to imagine generation after generation of descendants who look like us and put pictures of us on their walls, tell stories about us, in that way living forever, but life is short under the broken sky. We willingly devote ourselves to the rats, those who will live on. Their young, with their too-large heads, are already dancing in our the walls. We pray for their persistence, a long line of rats, rats, rats, and that, for a while, they might remember us, might remember our canned fruits, remember our breads, remember our fragrant cheeses, remember our civilization that broke the sky, broke ourselves, and prepared a way for them, beloved rats.
Q. What will you do now that the rats have arrived?
A. We will wait in joy until the rats have grown strong and numerous. We will listen as they chew through the walls, and wait until they arrive inside. Then, once they have, we will watch as they come upon all the cans of fruit, all the bread, all the fragrant cheese. After, we shall prepare ourselves. We hope they will start with our toes so we can see the work of their beautiful teeth and know their truth. Then, as they chew through our flesh and organs, consuming our muscle and sinew, gnawing our bones clean, we shall praise their wisdom. When they have finished their work on us, we think, we hope, they will work upon this place, the material of it, chewing through the plaster and wires, through tiles and planks, through everything until all that remains is a pleasing rubble, a testament to their perfection. We have such joy at imagining this, the marker upon the place where we gave ourselves. We hope it will stay for a while, and then blow away, more dust for the kingdom of rats.
The rats are finally here, thank the broken sky. We have waited so long and the rats are finally here. We have bitten our fingernails bloody and chewed the skin from our fingertips in anticipation, but, at last, the rats are finally here, thank the broken sky.
