Organization: Penn State University
Date: Mon, 27 Jul 1992 19:37:12 EDT
From: <ASG102@psuvm.psu.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: A Day In The Life Of Little Rat

     She lay huddled in the corner of the room.  She was asleep, but not
really sleeping.  In her hands, she clutched two things, a small rusty
dagger and two pieces of copper.  She shivered in the pre-dawn cold.  Her
clothing was thin and worn and dirty, but it was better that being a slave
she would often convince herself.  Sometimes she was not so sure.
     Her eyes opened when she sensed that something else was in this room.
The first thing she saw was a large black rat sniffing at her, trying to
decide if she was a preditor or prey.  It would never know since she
kicked it hard in the head, sending it across the room.  When it hit,
a red smear on the wall marked its death.
     Little Rat crawled over to the real rat and ripped at it with her
dirty fingernails.  After its skin came off in bits and pieces, she took
the remainder over to the fire that she had built the night before.
It had gone out.  She blew on the coals and one answered by glowing red
for a minute.  There was hope in that glow.  Hope that she could build
a fire again.  Hope that she would have something fresh to eat (even if
it was a rat).  Hope that she would some day get out of the Low City.
     She looked around the abandoned building for some small pieces
of wood with which to build the fire.  As always, there was some.  This
section was covered in debris.  A few minutes later, she had a small fire
going.  She put the dead rat on top without removing anything.  She
knew that if she wanted to remain strong, she would have to eat as much
as possible, including the disgusting parts.
     While the rat was cooking, she began to cry.  Not out loud like a
child wanting food, but quietly.  Little rat knew that there were a few
in the low city who liked making children cry.  Pain of others was the
only thing that could make them feel good about themselves.  She had no
idea why she was crying.
     She ate the rat without thinking about it.  If she did think about
it, she would have thrown up and then been weaker for the experience.
----------

     Little rat walked out into the street.  She hung her head low so no
one would bother her.  Even daylight in the Low City was dangerous, but
it was heaven compared to the nights.
     She made her way to her favorite trash cans...those of the Spitting
Cobra.  She opened the lid to the third can and sure enough, right on top
was a half-eaten fish sandwich and an old dried up pear.  She grabbed these,
stuffed them down her shirt and began climbing to the roof of the Inn.
If anyone knew what treasures she had hidden in that shirt, she would be
attacked and beated again.
---------

     Trawm, half-troll and owner of the Spitting Cobra, watched the Little
Rat climb to his roof with a smile on his deformed face.  Leaving the food
for her every day made him happy.  Not as happy as a good bar room fight,
but close and in a way, longer lasting.
     Of corse he couldn't tell anyone about his charity.  That would show
emotion and emotions meant weakness in the Low City.  Sooner or later,
someone would kidnap the Little Rat and hold her for ransom.  Then he
would pay and she would be found dead in a gutter.  It was the same thing
that had been happening in the Low City for the past hundred years and
it would continue that way for the next hundred.
     He went back into the bar room with a platter of beers.  When one
of the men refused to pay, Trawm broke all of the fingers on his right
hand and threw him into the street.  He stayed there wimpering for a
while and the people walking by detoured around him, thinking only of
themselves.
---------

     The Little Rat finished her wonderful food and walked across the
rooftops for a while, enjoying the sun.  A sensitive nose would have
been repulsed by the odors there, but nothing that lived in the Low
City was sensitive.
     After a few minutes more, she climbed back down to the street.
She moved about, asking the richer looking people if they have seen
her mother.  She had actually stopped looking for her mother a year
ago, but it gave her something to say while she tried to pick their
pockets.
     Around noon, she managed to get a rather large pouch from a
merchant who travelled nervously through this section of the city.
Before she could judge how much she had gotten, she heard shouts
that terrified her.
     "THIEF...THIEF...stop the girl, she has robbed me!" she took off
down the streets and side alleys, darting from one to another, trying
to lose anyone who would chase her.  In her panic, she chose the wrong
street and ran into the Mongrels, a Low City gang whose pleasure came
from killing rival gangs and each other when there was a heated argument.
     "Hello Rat," said their leader, grinning with brown teeth, "What
have you got for us today."
     "Nothin' I ain't got nothin' for you," she said trying to look a
few years older than she was.
     "I hears a jingling don't I?" he said advancing on her slowly.
     "Jingling means coins and coins means taxes.  You have to pay your
taxes Rat.  If you don't, then you'll be punished and then taxed anyway,"
he said with a smile that was anything but friendly.  It was more like
a dog bearing its teeth before pouncing.
     "I ain't got no jingles Pax, I swears I ain't," she lied.  She
suddenly turned and ran with all the speed that her little legs could
manage.  It wasn't enough.
     She got down one street and into the next alley before Smiles caught
her.  He was named that for the scar he had from one ear to the other when
his throat was cut.  He began to pound on her without holding back.  At
first, she tried to stop him, then she just tried to detach herself from
the pain.
     "Smiles, that's enough.  Get the money and lets go," Pax said, "If
we kill her now, she won't be able to be taxed later."
     His cold logic got through to Smiles and he stopped, then kicked her
for good measure when he was standing again.  Blood ran from her broken
lip, a cut on her face, and various other places all over her tiny body.
     She stayed there for several hours, unconsious and unable to move.
When she did wake up, it was almost dark.  This made her panic.  She
had to try to make it back to her room before full night or she would
be dead for sure.  She got to her feet and then fell back down again,
adding to the pain from her beating.  On the ground, she coughed for a
while, trying to be as quiet as possible.  The coughing fit ended and
she vomitted.  It came out red and smelled strongly of blood.
     Confused and weak, she grabbed an old broken broomstick from the
trash beside her and used it for support.  She stood again and coughed.
Gathering all of her strength, she limped her way across the Low City
and made it to her room just before sunset.  There, she crawled into
her corner and fell asleep.  That night, she dreamt of finding a whole
fish sandwich and a fresh pear in the garbage behind the Spitting Cobra.
It was a truly pleasant dream.

     Love and Peace and The Little Rat,
              -The Dreamer-
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn