Once upon a time, a time when rats were held in high esteem in the catacombs of the underworld, for their lives were lived under the world, there were two rats.
They were two ambitious little things, motivated by the cunningness of being able to sway predators and human traps. Damn, they were good. Too good that the gods considered them their god and they were revered in their entire kingdom, the kingdom of rats, for rats they were.
One lovely morning, on a day the sun’s rays touched the earth, they were on their usual hunt, a hunt to find food to feed their empty stomachs emptied out through the last feature of their digestive system. But that wasn’t a good day, the hunters became the hunted, chased by one of their most feared predator.
And so the rats raced using rudimentary racing technics rendered to every rat at birth (for it was a birth right) to run past and passed the deadly reptile. But nay, they haven’t escaped the fangs of this grieved creature…yet.
They were in a fix. They had never encountered this kind of ‘barbaric’ attack all their living lives. They decided to dig the earth to hide their heads and much of their body as fast as possible. But at that moment, in the middle of the exercise, they felt the breath of their predator on their behind, cooling the temperatures in those areas. One pissed on himself, the other’s heart pounced against his chest like the drums of the Maya being beaten in ancient Mexico when it was time for a sacrifice. So now lay before them two options: to take a chance escaping from where they started digging or to continue digging and hope that their behind will deceive their predator into thinking they are something else.
My name is Kotey and sometimes in life all we need to do is to stop digging, for it was that which led us to the predicament in the first place.