Rat Boy

A nightstand with an empty cup and full ashtray – a book of placebo poetry – pretty words strung together for abstract effect. I garner images like the crumbs of toast itchily deposited on my mattress. I neck my medication after carefully chewing each pill with care.

(ONE to be taken at night. If sleepy do not drive or operate machinery. Avoid alcohol. Swallow this medicine whole. Do not chew or crush.)

I go for the heavy stone – the terminal rush. I reach out for a taste of oblivion and oblivion reaches out to me. I have no fear of falling. Gravity is my best friend. That heavy hand on my shoulder – that warm envelope of darkness is the closest thing to the womb – outside of death.

I like to write. I like the exercise of assembling the words – negotiating meaning – no obfuscation – there can be no doubt, no room for mistakes. Mine is a struggle for meaning; it’s more than a mere obsession, it’s a life or death contest. The notebook on the nightstand is full of scribbled impressions – most are indecipherable to all but me.

The bedroom window is open just enough to let the night seep in. I feel the hum of the city streets, hears the howls of monkey bands making their way home in the wee small hours. Just before I succumb to sleep I think I hear a scratching sound somewhere in the room.

I dream of a long corridor with locked doors on either side. I am running from something or looking for someone. I dream about a girl, someone strange yet familiar. She is my woman and I have to protect her from some unseen threat. 

I dream that the girl is pregnant. She gives birth to a rat. However I try to care for the child I feel revulsion and I cannot help thinking that this is my replacement. It makes perfect sense; Rat Boy is the ultimate survivor. It’s only when the infant calls me ‘Dad’ that I wake up with a jolt.

The sky is grey, the light is thin. It could be anytime, but my body tells me that it’s six am. I always awaken at six am. I kid myself that it’s a lifetime of routine, but it’s junk and I know it. My body awakens me every morning screaming for ease. I am less well equipped for survival than Rat Boy, I shudder as I recall my dream, Rat Boy has no weaknesses like junk.