Roly-Poly Rat Brains

Okay, so this is Stella's brain. Well, the inside of her brain. Her thoughts, sort of thing. You know what I mean:

I've been in this cage my entire life. I was born here. I cut my teeth here and opened my eyes here and unfolded my ears here, and then I climbed the walls. There was a ceiling, so I came back down. There was nothing to do on the floor, so I went back up. There was still a ceiling, so I clung to the wires for a while, jamming my nose through the spaces. At first, I thought I could feel a little give, like I could maybe get my head through (and anywhere my head fits, I fit--it's a well-known fact about rats), but halfway up my nose it started pinching, and then I got stuck, and then I fell down, and someone laughed at me. Funny laugh, that. Barbarian laugh. Not a rat laugh. All throaty and vulgar. It was a people-laugh. I don't like people. They smell funny.

Ooh! Ooh! People! Hey, this means I can get out. I'd better start yelling. That's the real way out of here: making a lot of noise. The more noise I make, the sooner I get out. Hey! You! Yeah, you over there in the tacky velour sweater! (People still wear that shit?) Squeeeeal! Listen to me, you lousy pink prison warden! Let me out of here! I'd better rattle the bars a bit--that's a good plan. That always works. Rattle-rattle. Rattle-rattle. Rattle-rattle. Rattle-bang! Yeh, that's got your attention, ya varmit! Up off the couch with you!

Now this here, this is my brain:

I've been working my entire life! I was born working. I cut my teeth on hard labour, opened my eyes to discover I was already behind in the rat race, and spent the rest of my life running to catch up. I hit the glass ceiling, broke it, got a sliver in my eye, fell back down, got bored with life at the bottom, and went back up. I tried to ram my way through the hole I made when I climbed up the first time, but my big ol' messy shoulders wouldn't fit. At first, I thought I could make it, if the splinters'd just quit jabbing me, but then a big one got me right between the shoulderblades, and I had to stop wriggling. Now, I'm stuck, and that's about as fun as a Jack Daniels enema. Not that I've ever had one, of course, but it's about as fun as you'd expect said enema to be. Oh, man. I'm so looking forward to a good day's sleep. Ohhhhhh, yeah. Pillows, come to mama. Coat, cover those feet. Blissful oblivion! Merciful rest! Wait a sec--what's that noise?

Shit! Stella! What's that damn rat doing up? It's nine o'clock in the morning! Get thee to thy nest of iniquity, foul creature! Shut up! Shut up! OH, GOD, PLEASE SHUT THAT SQUEALY LITTLE MOUTH OF YOURS AND LET ME GET SOME...

(Rattle-rattle. Rattle-rattle. Rattle-rattle. Rattle-bang!)

...sleep. Oh, you little monster. Six hours you spent biting my feet and taking my pen nibs, and you're still not tired? How can this be? Oh, you hairy rotter! Oh, you devil! You're killing me! Killing me!

I open the cage. Fuckin' rat comes screeching out like an express train, complete with the hooty thing. Hooty thing. You know--you know.... (I can't believe this. I've forgotten the word for...

Socar: What do you call the hooty thing on a train?
Dan: Erm...I have no idea. Horn doesn't sound right, somehow.
Socar: Aw, man.

...for...

(Googling)

...for whistle. It's a whistle.)

Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeh. Opening the cage. Rat barreling out, whistling like an express train: whooooo-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! And inside her pointy little head:

YES! Where shall I go first? Ooh! Under the couch! Under the table! On the beanbag chair! Up the bookcase! Where--where--where? Oh, who needs decisions? I'll just step on absolutely everything in the room, and wherever feels good to my feet, that's where I'll stay! Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

...

I've been in this room my entire life. I drank my first drop of milk under this bookcase, bit my first finger on that pile of papers, stole my first pen from that coffee mug. I jumped on the bean bag chair, fell off, jumped back on again, sank in so far I had to scrabble to get out, and got my claws stuck in the zipper. That was embarrassing, but I persevered. I extricated myself and climbed to new heights. From the top of that chair, I could almost smell freedom. Freedom! Land of zebras and parrots! Lush motherland, green with forests and redolent with gardenia blossoms! Africa, sweet Africa! I jumped for the delicious scent, but when I arrived on the windowledge, it was gone. Perhaps it was never there to begin with. Still, I've got to try again. And again. And again.

Hey, what's going on? What's all the banging? Oh, no! Hands! Big, hairless, ginger-tasting hands! Get thee behind me, Satan! Shoo! Scat! Noooooooooooo! Not back to prison! I'll be good! Really! I swear!

Oh, screw you!

(Bite.)

Meanwhile, within the confines of my own cranium (not a pleasant place at the tail end of an eleven-hour work marathon):

Damn! Evil animal! I didn't mean run round my living room. I meant, you know, get in your box. I was going to let you play in the bathtub. Where I don't have to watch you that closely, you know? Hey, where are you going? What are you doing? What's going on in here?

...

I've been awake my entire life! My first bottle had coffee in it instead of goat's milk. My eyes have hurt since the dawn of time, and there's always been something to be responsible for. Responsible for. Responsible...snrxxxxxxx...xxxx...aie! Dozing! Dozing! Red alert! Where'd that rat get to? What's she doing on the beanbag chair? I hate when she gets on that thing. One of these days, I'm going to turn my head for a fraction of an instant, and she's going to bite it. Beans will go everywhere. My life will be ruined. You know, one time, a very long time ago, I saw a glimpse of a world where life was carefree. I sat around drawing all day, and I didn't have to worry about money. (Money! Oh, God, money! What'll I feed Stella tonight? What'll I feed me? Oh, right--I just ordered from Urban Fare. I do have food. I do, I do.) I reached for the dream, but it receded. It always recedes. Perhaps it can never be real. Still, I can't give up hope. Must work more. And more. And more.

Hey, what's going on? What's that rat into now? Bad rat! I'm putting you away! Don't you bite me! Don't bite me! Don't bite!

Oh, screw this!

(Bite.)

Then, we both went to sleep and had disturbingly similar dreams.