I am listening.
I do not hear.
I am listening.
I do not hear.
I am listening.
A myth for the immediate now.
A world wound round a fake propagation. Seeds sown deep
I am listening.
I do not hear.
I am listening.
I do not hear.
I am listening.
It feels like aphorism, or a cliché mantra.
Words were chosen carefully.
Are you listening?
I do not hear.
I do not see.
I am listening.
I do not speak.
I am being spoken for. About.
These words are not mine.
Are you listening?
There is a place.
It isn't far from here.
It may be on the moon.
There is a place.
It isn't far from here.
There, in this place.
Are you listening?
There is a place. It isn't far from here. There in this place is a seat from which all is seen.
I cannot see, nor can I hear.
From this placed seat all is seen. It is a stool, an observer's perch more than it is a throne. The seat from where all is seen is not regal. It is a stool.
There in this place is a pit.
The cadence has been broken now.
There is a place. It isn't far from here. It may be on the moon. It sings like the rings of Jupiter.
I do not hear. I do not see.
There in this place is a seat from which all can be seen. There in this place is a pit. There in this pit is a pool. It sings like the rings of Jupiter.
Here lives the Rat King.
Our first character.
Here lives the Rat King.
Our first character.
Here lives the Rat King.
Eyes like flame.
Here lives the Rat King.
Eyes like flame.
Here lives the Rat King.
Our first character there in this place from which all can be seen.
Eyes like flame.
The cadence broken, again. Sorry. This story is hard to tell because it is not mine. I am listening and these words are not mine.
Our first character.
The Rat King lives in the place with the seeing stool, singing pit and pool. This place may be on the moon. It smells like the cold. A fresh snow on a windless day.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
The Rat King lives here. It may be on the moon. From here the Rat King guards the stool, pit and pool. He cannot sit, but stands watch.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
The Rat King may be on the moon where he stands watch over the stool, pit and pool. He guards against those who wish to see.
I do not hear.
I do not see.
I am listening.
I do not speak.
I am being spoken for. About.
There words are not mind.
Sorry. This story is hard to tell because it is not mine. I borrowed it for a time.
Our first character.
Eyes like flame.
The Rat King stands watch over the stool, pit and pool guarding against those who would wish to see. See more than what has been allotted to their vision. To see too much. Too far. Too close. The Rat King with eyes like flame guards the stool, pit and pool from those who want to see without observing. Without rights. Without wishes. Who wish to see for the sake of seeing. To see for sight unseen is powerful. Or at least a way to have power. A seated place by a pit and pool. A place that may be on the moon. It sings like Jupiter's rings.
Someone draws near. A line across the blank space growing towards the Rat King's guarded place.
Our second character.
From his vest the Rat King plucks a small silver rat. These are the best for investigating what draws near. The small silver rat scurries from where the Rat King placed it towards the line drawing near.
The line moves like a brush stroke. Water-thinned ink across a dampened rag-cloth paper. The thing drawing near bleeds across the surface.
Warm blood through veins in a cold place. Maybe we're on the moon?
Eyes like flame. The silver rat is at the line. It steps closer. The line bleeds toward the rat. Warm blood through veins. The silver rat's eyes narrow. Widen. Ink on paws. Paws in ink. The silver rat is drawn close. Warm blood through veins.
Our second character.
As the approaching line and silver rat meet the Rat King screams!
There in this place is a seat from which all can be seen. There in this place is a pit. There in this pit is a pool. It sings like the rings of Jupiter.
The Rat King guards the stool, pit and pool. The bleeding ink line comes close. The silver rat is dead. The Rat King screams. The line draws closer to the Rat King, stool, pit and pool.
Our second character. Eyes like flame.
Our second character.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
The line draws close. Does it wish to see?
The cadence is broken again. This story is not mine to tell. Are you listening?
I am listening. I do not hear. I am listening. I do not hear. I am listening.
A myth for the immediate now.
A world wound round by vines from seeds sown deep.
I am sorry. This story isn't mine to tell. Borrowed.
As the line comes closer and closer across the plain the Rat King, eyes like flame, lifts silver rat, white rat, black rat from himself. Every time he removes a rat from his coat he shrinks. He shrinks. His rat army grows. He shrinks. His rat army grows.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
The hoard of rats braces. They are a wave. Warm blood through veins. The line draws near towards the place that isn't far from here where there is a seat, a pit, a pool. The rat hoard braces. They are a wave. The line draws near. The rat wave breaks. Warm blood through veins.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
Our second character.
Our first character.
They are a wave. Warm blood through veins. Eyes narrow. Widen. Ink on paws. Paws in ink. The rat wave and line drawn close meat. Crash. Crest. Break. Warm blood through veins.
Eyes like flame.
Our second character.
Our first character.
There is no scream. The Rat King is dead. Ink on paws. Paws in ink. There is stillness and only the sound of something that sings like the rings of Jupiter. After a time. A beat. A pause. A thin line. Warm blood, or is it ink?
Sorry, this story isn't mine to tell. The cadence is broken.
After the crash and break. All is still. The Rat King is dead. A thin line bleeds from where they met. It is the line. So thin now. Meat. But it draws closer and grows darker towards the stool, pit and pool.
I do not hear.
I do not see.
Are you listening?
Listen as the tissues are torn. Bones broken. Whiskers dashed. Rat marrow and ink mix. Ink moves towards the stool, pit and pool.
Lay me down.
Lay me low.
Rat King, where is your crown?
The voice came from far away.
Rat King, where is your crown?
The voice came from far away.
Rat King. Where is your crown?
I know you can answer me. You are all rats, Rat King. What I have killed are only those few. Your knights. Those who make you up here in this place. Rat King. You are all rats. You can answer me. Only your knights lay dead.
Lay me down.
Lay me low.
Rat King, where is your crown?
Eyes like flame wink, flicker and blink.
Rat King! Where is your crown? I know you can answer me. You are all rats, Rat King. I have only killed a few of your knights. Where is your Crown?
The Rat King does not answer. The Rat King is all rats. His knights lay dead, broken.
Lay me down.
Lay me low.
Warm blood through veins. The Rat King does not answer. He is all rats. His knights lay dead, broken.
Rat King, where is your crown? Answer me rat. Where is your crown? I killed your knights. Where is your crown?
Lay me down.
Lay me low.
Eyes like flame.
The Rat King does not answer. He is all rats.
Where is your crown?
Eyes like flame.
Our first character.
Our second character.
This voice from far away. This line bleeding towards the stool, pit and pool. The Rat King's knights here dead, broken. This is a moment for stillness and quiet. Not far from here there is a place that might be on the moon. It sings like the rings of Jupiter. There is a pit and a pool. There is a seat from where you can see everything.
Lay me down.
Lay me low.
There is a place.
It isn't far from here.
It may be on the moon.
There is a place.
It isn't far form here.
There, in this place.
Are you listening?
I cannot see, nor can I hear.
Sorry. The cadence, rhythm, beat has been broken now. This story is hard to tell because it is not mine. I am listening and these words are not mine.
Our first character.
The Rat King's knights are dead.
Where is your crown?
The Rat King doesn't answer. He doesn't know who asks the question. He doesn't understand why the voice has sent this line, this ink, to kill his knights and then to ask for his crown. His knights. The Rat King is all rats. The Rat King guards the stool, pit and pool. The Rat King's crown. The Rat King's knights. The Rat King is all rats. The Rat King guards the stool, pit and pool. His crown has nothing to do with guarding the stool, pit and pool. He is all rats and this is his duty. This is the duty of all rats. To guard the stool, pit and pool.
It is a stool, an observer's perch more than it is a throne. The seat from where all is seen is not regal. It is a stool. The Rat King is all rats. The Rat King stands watch over the stool, pit and pool guarding against those who would wish to see. See more than what has been allotted to their vision. To see too much. Too far. Too close. The Rat King with eyes like flame guards the stool, pit and pool from those who want to see without observing. The Rat King is all rats.
Where is your crown?
Why ask for my crown, why kill my knights?
Are you listening?
No
Eyes like flame.
No
Eyes like flame.
Teeth and bones.
No
Eyes like flame.
Where is your crown?
Why kill my knights? Why ask for my crown? What is it to you?
To who? Eyes like flame.
Your knights were only so much meat, bone, and gristle to me. Your crown. Your crown is what I am after. The knights where in my way. They distract from you. From you, all rats. Rat King! Where is your crown?
Eyes like flame.
He is all rats and this is his duty. This is the duty of all rats. To guard the stool, pit and pool. To guard the seeing seat. This place. There in this place is a seat from which all can be seen. There in this place is a pit. There in this pit is a pool. It sings like the rings of Jupiter.
Here lives the Rat King. Our first character.
Are you not after the stool? The pit? The pool? Sight?
Where is your crown, Rat King?
No
Eyes like flame.
I am here for your crown. Where is it?
It belongs to another. Why did you kill my knights?
To another? It is the Rat King's crown. To whom else could it belong.
No
Eyes like flame.
A gift.
It was given.
I am listening. I do not hear. I am listening. I do not hear. I am listening.
A gift?
It was given.
Where is your crown?
Why did you kill my knights?
Where is your crown?
Eyes like flame.
A gift?
There. There it is broken. This story is hard to tell because it is not mine. I am listening and these words are not mine.
Where is your crown Rat King?
I don't have it. It was given as a gift. A token. A remembrance. The crown is not mine. It was a gift given.
The blood-ink line draws near to the stool, pit and pool.
I don't have the crown.
At the edge of the pit, beneath the stool, the line hesitates. It draws near the edge but holds back.
Now is not the time.
The crown.
A gift? Given to whom? Rat King! Who has your crown?
The beat, the silence, a place that may be on the moon. It sings like Jupiter's rings. The hesitation was too long. The Rat King is gone. Escaped.
Eyes like flame.
Eyes like flame.
Left the second character with the stool, pit and pool unguarded.
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend
Where is your crown, Rat King?