A hand opens, releasing a fluttering rat into an open field. Malnourished from the tin can life, a sickly shadow follows close behind. Oh, what one tiny fool would do for a single crumb! Does humble rodent wish to sell his soul to sit with the portly kings? Would he rather give away his dignity to wear the silver lined robes of the rich? Or would he rather bite the throats of elders to claim their blood and disown his own? After all, do we not all have a portrait completely drawn out for what defines such a rat?
The thrones remain full, but the bodies remain empty. Little modest mouse, your only crown is the dirt of the earth. You are the shining star in the gutter, but who searches for shimmer in the glum and dumpsters?
Though your frame is thin, your heart is full. You are free, little one; but don't forget the hand that released you.
That's all it ever asked.
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