He always stole from me. He always stole every idea and concept I tried to conceive and make it his own. He always ratted me out any opportunity he had. Rat was a great word for what he was. He was always trying to mate with shady rats from the back allies of the cities, always trying to seal a deal with the ones who pillage. He always differed from anybody else with a moral compass. He always did what he was told by the pillagers, once he even stole thousands from a widow suffering from the loss of her lover due to cancer. He always ignored the basics of being a decent human. He always copied and stole just like the pillagers he interacted with; rats tend to stick together. He always wore a big top hat on his head when he went out for deals and pathetic mating.
He never did anything to benefit society, yet he is at my door, asking for shelter for his pillagers have forsaken him, who could have known? He never sounded truthful in his apologies, in his remarks for redemption. He never could have seen the walls of his chosen lifestyle close in on him. He never took the no’s I had repeatedly yelled at his face when he asked for permission into my domain. He never cared that I attempted to blockade him from entering. He never left when I threatened to call the “ enforcers “ of the law of him squatting on my couch, he knew I had never had the conscious to do anything about him really.
He will stay for how long he requests in his own shattered mind. He will leave when the storm of his pillagers turning back on him becomes just another annoyance. He will steal the thoughts of mine, turn them around on him and get some of the points that he so desperately needs from our relatives. He will be seen as the creative brother of us, even though the only creativity he has is the way of breaking into homes and getting a new kick or two. But.
He will not continue for far longer. For he is a tick that needs to be removed. For I will remove him from the public safety. For I will simply press 3 buttons and free humanity from the burden of the rat with the hat. And I did. And his mindless body was escorted to a prison where he remained for a good few months. In that time, I was free. We were free. We were all free of this leech. But all good things have to come to an end. As he was released for the only crimes they could sniff out were trespassing and pick pocketing. And rats are very good at hiding their misdeeds, making this his first charge ever.
Every second he was in society after that I feared. For he had one of his pillagers speak to me personally. I was walking down the same street I go every day as a mourning jog, when the weasel came up to me and said to never interfere with his owner ever again. But the prospect of him, the rat in the hat, getting an actual punishment for his new crimes. His new crimes of stealing not just objects of value, but lives. Lives that are also in exchange for cold hard cash. For once I found him, found him lacking around where he usually gets his golden cats. Where he enjoys the fine pleasures of mating without the actual cost of it. Was I the rat now? For I have forsaken whatever law and order I have displayed by alarming the enforcers of his crimes.
But no. I am not a rat. I don’t wear a hat. I don’t pillage. I don’t mate with shadows. I don’t hide my misdeeds, as few as they seem in comparison to his. Even though I am just a cog in the machine we call society, I am not a net negative. The enjoyment I felt when I saw that he was carried away by the enforcers was immeasurable yet extremely high. At last, I saw the rat in the hat get punishment that fit the deal. His life would be just bars, brick, and anal torture. But something about the rat in the hat wasn’t dealt with. His weasels and pillagers were still running amuck. And they were ticked off about my presence of ratting.
Their anger followed me around, for times I swear I could see somebody staring at me while I was doing a daily task. And it cornered me. For I was trapped in my own home by a couple weasels. My living room was just a room for tuning down my energy for my existence before this. Now it was a chamber of death. As the front door rattled and broke down to the weasels. The weasels entered my state of residence and turned to my now horror-struck face. For they were out for unneeded revenge. Glued to the couch, I stared at their weapons, sticks that expelled anti-life lead balls. Pointed straight at me. All this for me.
I couldn’t do anything but hold my hands up and plea. As soon as they arrived they left. But not without my body riddled with lead. For that was the last thing I could recall before waking up in the white void. There was nothing but my soul there. Nothing but the hazy shadows of the present. I could do nothing but walk. I guess souls aren’t conditioned for anything but moving at an appointed angle. Time didn’t function in my head even with the shadows, all I know is that I was here for a long time. Long enough for my mind to fry itself from sheer dismay of being in such a location that defies its needs. I was almost happy when I saw him in the corner of my vision, if you could even call it vision.
The rat in the hat spoke to me when I tried to scream my anger out all at once. But here sound was a work of fiction. For he spoke to me from my own mind. He asked me a deal, no pleaded. He asked us for a deal in which we would both exist in reality again, but that we would both be swapped in positions again. In a desperate thought, I had said yes, even though everything else said everything opposing. That was enough for the rat in the hat to smile and fade away, with every shred of fear rising inside of my remaining soul and mind. I don’t remember the change from a void to a stain riddled bed, but it changed. Now, everything is different. I was myself to the pillagers, making them resent me, I was changed to my relatives, making them resent me, I was changed to friends and my work making them resent me. I have nothing to do but spew out my words on this paper. In the end, the rats always win