ode

An ode to the death of rats

The night was dark and gloomy. No stars were visible across the densely clouded sky. The cold wind of winter howled occasionally as it made its way across the empty streets, stirring some noises into the otherwise quiet streets. Behind the noise of the galloping wind was a tapping sound. It slowly grew stronger as it made its way through the street towards a wide bridge, where it abruptly stopped. The noise belonged to two heavy-set gentleman who were carrying a third individual with them. That individual seemed less at ease but that might be have been due to the fact that his feet were encased in cement. The two heavy-set men were about to heave the incapacitated men off the bridge and into the cold river below, when a set of quick steps echoed through the streets.

The heavy-set men stopped and looked around them to find that the quick steps belonged to a strangely clad gentleman who had was wearing a colorful red robe and a large pointy hat with the word wizzard on it, his face was decorated with a large brown beard.

The three people on the bridge forgot everything for a moment; what they were supposed to do; who they were, and just stared open-mouthed at the strange manifestation that stood in front of them.

‘I am very sorry to disturb you, but could you perhaps tell me when I am?’ asked the strange ‘wizzard’.

Noticing that his colleagues were somewhat lost in their minds, trying to make a piece that shouldn’t be there fit in their world, the encased person took the opportunity to speak and try to convey as many signs as possible to the ‘wizzard’ that he needed help urgently. The signs manifested themselves as winks, eyebrow raising, little fits of coughing and other such tricks. ‘You are in 1955… huuehuumm…’

‘Oh!’ the wizzard seemed to ponder at this and stared back at the gentleman. ‘So this might be roundworld right?’ he asked.

The incapacitated gentleman was becoming increasingly anxious. He tried everything he could think of short of crying out for help and nothing seemed to be working. ‘I guess so… I don’t know!’ He answered angrily. ‘But we could talk about it all you want over a pint?!’ he said smiling a large and nervous smile.

The wizzard stared at the gentleman and said ‘No thank you, I’ll be running away now. Thank you.’

This seemed to break the spell and the two heavy-set men finally moved from their position. Understanding that this might be his very last chance the gentleman called out ‘Aren’t you going to help me?!’

‘Oh no!’ answered the wizzard ‘I can’t risk something happening to me.’ and with that the wizzard was gone his quick steps quickly nothing more than an ancient memory.

The heavy-set men turned back to the job at hand.

‘Can’t we talk about this? I mean this was so weird, why don’t we just laugh it off in the pub?’

The men looked at each-other and silently agreed that going to the pub was a very good idea indeed. They heaved the gentleman over the edge and walked towards the nearest pub where they had a good few drinks. The gentleman’s plunge into the water was witnessed by no one except a pigeon who happened to fly by. What happened after the plunge was also witnessed by no one. Not even the pigeon. A strangely clothed person took off his pointy hat and robe and jumped into the water…

Note:

This is my little ode to Terry Pratchett whose work I admire and cherish. May you rest in peace and may death and the death of rats welcome you into their domain.

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