life was being transferred to the rat, little by little, organ by organ. With cheerless eyes, its body was already suffering under the weight of a curiosity I had carried around with me since construction. It could see the Aspiration Line, and my encounter with #34297. If I knew how to, I may have smiled, a simple gesture to let it know I too wanted to be human, to love and have hope. But I couldn’t because there was nothing in me to force those muscles to tighten. I asked the rat to stop consuming me. Its life would be darker if it did, but the rat did not care. I remember the rat lunging toward my eyes, its face twisted by the need to exist and that of pity. Then there was nothing.
Conjectural Figments Feb 2012
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