I have a new theory to test.
A rodent inches closer to us: me and the dead Guard. It goes for him first: I’m too different to be interesting.
Gnaws at the Guard’s thigh. I let the scene play itself out; aware of the risks but keen to get more vengeance. It can’t last, and I know that.
The Guards will believe anything their Fearless Leader tells them. But they can’t believe that a rat would so easily feast on a man’s leg without being challenged...if the man were still alive.
So I pick the fat rodent up sooner than I wanted to...and flatten its face on the fence.
Its head explodes. Brains everywhere. And I’m unharmed.
With proof: the fence can’t touch me.
And now I have someone to talk to: your headless, mangled corpse. I should probably apologize, but I’ll do that when I have answers.
And we both know you would have got me killed, so you technically owe me an apology.
My limbs are sagging now: both from the stress of...dying...I have no other word for it. And from the gas that’s filling every breath I take.
I need to clear my head. Keep myself from going under.
Talking always helps: even if no one can hear me. And even if my audience doesn’t have ears. Or a neck, come to think of it.
So tell me: oh Wise, Headless Rat.
If I don’t move now they’ll send a burial party in the evening.
If I do move now they’ll shoot me as soon as I clear the fence.
If I don’t move now I can get the burial party to join my escape.
If I do move now I’m a slow-moving target in an open field.
If I don’t move now, someone might discover the Guard.
If I do move now I’ll make so much noise the Guard will be discovered anyway.
And those damn rats are everywhere, so they’re going to nibble on me at a weird time and I don’t have the patience to be eaten.
So, tell me...
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