Sunday, April 24, 2011

Rathleticism


(or)

To Kill a Running Rat

The query whether or not rats are humankind's friends has been one of existential nature for too long than it deserved. All I can say in this dilemma of a subject is crooks can be receptive when comes to deathblows. I detect the intruder, I let go as long as my next morning's wrapped bread pack is unscathed. Once the given limit is transgressed I am game for a kill, and it is a given that I terminate the object of disgust with sheer skill. Who is to say one shouldn't be a guardian of his kitchen!

The nature of subject, however, rather demands grinding the holes of past. When looked back in time, animal kingdom had their sufficient share of territory to graze and procreate. Lately, humankind in its greed, when still retaining its ‘immaculate original shine,’ filled the earth and invaded what was rightly the other's. Deforestation, turning swamps to skyscrapers became its pastime. Consequently, the speechless have been left with little to occupy. Some even contemplated, acted upon counter invasion and to an extent succeeded.

A pigeon flies out perplexed as her perceived hanging plant starts whirling. She got knocked up and so wanted to seam a nest to lay eggs indoor on a leafless contrarily rooted steel plant - a fan. An army of ants wish they grow wings for they cannot in all their perseverance cross a thin white line. A hanging bat views an upside-down giant biped - a maiden, attempting to imitate a beastly howl - a scream, and flies window ward and out. Will not the poor bat suffer nightmares in his witness of humankind?

When I was a kid, a dog ate my kitten. Hence, I avoid clinging to what can be killed and that kills. My love for lower animals only goes so far. There is someone I admire though, I confess, having tasted with spices. Squirrel it is. He is not so much of an intruder. His intrusion is as far as the sweet garden. There is mystery to his detection of sweetness and skill to his tasting of it. After a ride to satiation, as he rides on the wall he studies a suspended piece of coconut. For need of a perfect dessert, he bites down its suspension and there is a bang. He is wooden trapped. As he wonders about his predictability of stupidity, trap moves to another location with him in it combating. He witnesses a pool of water, and he is soon in it. He chatters, "Fool, how can you swim encased in a trap." Indeed, he cannot. He is gagged, then skinned and made fries of meatballs.

Squirrels make better models. They are pacifists in that they do not invade their enemy's kitchen; they also nourish the enemy if chosen to. It is the rats who make bad models. They are warriors. They invade, and do not nourish – not in my world. It is not up to one to meditate as to why not hail to the crook! I shall rather instruct you along the lines of when in my kitchen...it is my home, my kitchen. They invade as and when they like and turn the food storage upside down. They have no courtesy, no saying no thank you nothing.

The killing machine is a wooden stick, half as long as the killer. Avoid iron rods by all means. It damages the floor for no advantage. A rat is expert at playing mind games, as if it is his cake-run, running through bottles and vessels. The colonist must gather his composure. Anger is a self-killer. It makes one damage one’s own foot with a misplaced blow. Not amid glass objects or steel bowls. Rat chooses the corners as if he wishes to disappear through another dimension. Wait for him on the open ground. You are a rathlete, swift and reckoning. Imagine an imaginary movable circle around the rebel. Strike your deathblow. There will be blood with initial exterminations, eyes popping out and bowels on the wrong side. Deter not. After the body is out of the scene, spraying a mix of a spoonful of Dettol with half a mug of water and wiping will do wonders.

Do not in your perversion fancy of drinking their blood. Remember, ‘you are of divine origin!’ I shall remind you from an Interview with the Vampire. There was a vampire once in whose heart fell a conviction that he must stop feeding on human blood and so he chose to drink rat's instead only to later confess he despised his choice and that it made him crave human blood more than ever. That is just a story stemmed from the shadow side of our split brain. ‘Humankind in reality never shed blood of its own kind,’ if I may humbly add. You do not agree? ‘You are living in a violent imaginary world!' The best I can tell you is 'this life is sweet and you stop living an unnatural one.’

Now to the expertise on how to avoid blood-shedding. Enough said on imaginary circle and open ground. The first gentle blow shall be aimed at the back of the intruder. This will paralyze the poor thing. As he struggles to drag himself to nowhere, again gently as if patting his head leave your mark with two strikes. There you have a spotless kill.


'Quotes' from A Rathlete’s Guide to Defense


Authored by an Anonymous Veteran Colonialist


To promote at IndiVine



4 comments:

  1. Strange; no "story" yet interestingly written; evokes smile. :)

    I'm at http://journeyinginlife.blogspot.com/

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  2. arun rays Thanks Arun for reading and commenting. Yeah, it's kind of nonfiction fiction.. Nice to know it had you amused.

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  3. I vaguely recall reading a similarly themed essay in school, but it was on cockroaches.CBSE textbooks are shitty nowadays though.Light and entertaining, very believable!

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  4. Nishkam Razdan Yeah? But doing it to roaches might make it messier. Good to know it read light.

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