Ratatouille
A man sits down, slumped next to a wall, a gun in one hand and a rat in the other. His eyes glint as he watches me, mine widened with shock and terror and plain, deafening disgust as I watch him sink his teeth into the squealing animal. What I would give to turn back time, get grabbed by those assholes and taken away in their flashy copcar so I don't have to witness this sickening shit.
Its blood stains his hand, stains his teeth, drips to the floor and gently laps at the edge of my boot.
The pure, dark redness stains us both, now.
No one's born without it, right? Nothing clean, elegant and pristine about being thrown into this world.
I watch him as he bites into its neck, sneaking in littler chunks of flesh past his lips as he keeps his gaze on me. Perhaps I should run. The guy seems like a lunatic. Then again, I remember the story my father told me of cooking and eating grasshoppers during the Nigerian Civil War. No victors, no vanquished... Sometimes it isn't madness but a hunger that becomes our driving force.
We all go about our days dancing about on this human-constructed stage after all, don't we? For a reason, too, one that triumphs all others. You either live or die. One or the other always. You don't get a choice between.
When I inch closer to him, he holds the gun to me. I stare down the barrel and am reminded of every action movie I've ever watched. Those characters would kick it out of his hands with such fluidity - the actors in real life much less likely to.
I'm a human being. I'm right here. So I make a choice like everyone must when faced with death. The emotion I lead with? Not anger, not fear, not horror, even as they boil and bubble within me. Curiosity. Just curiosity.
"I'm not going to take the rat from you."
"Wouldn't have let ya, kid."
"What... Are you doing?"
"Ever heard of the last supper?"
"You're going to die?"
"We all are. I'm expediting the damned process."
"Okay. Okay. That, I get. But a rat? Fuck, I would've grabbed some really good junk food if I knew I was about to end myself."
"I don't have any money."
"Fine. I would've stolen some, then. I mean... Right before taking your life... You really didn't have a better plan than live rodent?"
"I almost killed you just now, you know."
"Yeah. I saw. I was there."
"This is a shit reaction."
"Well, the cops were chasing me down, sir so... I'm all out of fucks to give right now. I guess I'm also waiting for a type of finality too. A kind of decision. Judgement. Except yours is gonna be self-inflicted and permanent. Mine... Who knows?"
"...tell me. What are you going down for? Prison isn't the place for a lass like you."
"Don't worry about me or my gender. What's a dying old man's business with some youngster's life story? You'd get bored. Maybe I would too. No. Better to pretend our meeting wasn't fated and let the coincidence stay as it did. You keep eating your raw meat and do yourself away once you're done. I'll go fuck off."
"...Do you think a change of clothes might be enough to hide you a bit? The poor and homeless style might fit you quite well."
"Let's try it out and see. As a trade, I tell you my story... Maybe you tell me yours. And hey, if we both survive the night not in jail and not dead, suffering but still here, I'll find you a burger. I can't leave you with this as a last meal. I'd feel guilty knowing the sight that made me almost throw up and consider turning myself in was it for you. Do we have a deal, sir?"
"You'll entertain me and get me free food? Sure, I can waste some extra hours on that. Didn't have any big plans tonight, anyway."