Trapped like a rat

RATS

The time had come once again. Dad looked at his little calendar, hoping it was not so- but it was indeed the first of the new month. As our tradition dictates, it had to be the last born...

So we bathed him under the leaking faucet to cleanse and prepare him. We tried to skip the bathing once but the Gods were dis-pleased, taking 2 others with the fumes before the fire died down at last. Their lungs were too small to handle that thick smog...

Number 9 was now ready for the ceremony. (Mom and Dad didn't want to get too attached so they chose those kinds of names for us. I was Number 7)

10 at night, we gathered at the holy altar of metal and plastic to receive the blessings of the Gods. We were ready, but were we prepared? We'd done this dozens of times, we knew the procedure! We had lost so many to the blue flames, piercing our eyes each and every time... Our hearts were forged in steel. We should not have been swayed after all this time, yet we wept...

Number 9 looked confused, wondering why we were in a circle. Behind cover. Wearing our little glasses, prompting him towards the cheese-coated plastic in front of him. He never was a bright one, that Number 9... Dad looked down to his little watch and whispered under his breath:

"Oh Gods of ours, whiskered and laden with thick golden fur, supply us with what we need for survival. All we ask for is simply enough, slithers of food and plenty of luck. Keep the giants, clawed and flat-footed away. Let the cheese not be poisoned, the left-overs safe..."

Then in a thunderous voice: "GO NOW NUMBER 9! EAT THE CHEESE OF VALHALLA!!!"

With a chomp of those mighty jaws, our little Number 9 had a hasty passing. I believe it is best that he did not know this was coming, all lit up like a Christmas tree. I have only heard of such behemoths though, Dad says that the giants use them to pray to their own Gods. With the sacrifice of poor little Number 9 perhaps some day I, too, shall get a glimpse of this awe inspiring 'tree' of plastic and metal...

It was at this same time that Barbara noticed the lights dim for a split second. "Stupid electrician, botched up the wiring!" - she thought to herself while watching her favourite soapy on the telly. This small inconvenience had no lasting effects on Barbara.

RAT-a Paws, the
spirit-animal of Christmas.

FIN

Well, um... Don't do drugs! Or you may come up with things like this 0_O (P.S. I wasn't doing drugs when I wrote this, I'm just strange).

To clarify, this story is about a family of rats in a roof. I know it may have been a little confusing but please bear with my need for subtlety even if it hurts with all the confusion... Barbara is a human that lives in the house below the rat family and she enjoys her television shows.

Yours in writing
Benjamin