by Anthony Teth
The skull of a rat held gingerly by idle fingers; peered at through cupped hands in the sunlight; bleached white, brittle, dry, and whispering to me. Its soft squeaks tell me of the comforting darkness and the social nuances of rodent politics, for when they move, they move as one, unlike certain other mammals. I am told about generation upon generation of disease, squalor, might, power, comfort and loyalty; empires fallen, kingdoms destroyed, all under our noses or beneath our feet. Scurrying amidst the shadows and feeding upon our sloth and gluttony; a mimic and mockery of our mighty fortresses, our lush comforts, and our concrete playgrounds, yet, seemingly adhering to a more moral existence than that of the "civilized" simian kind. Come, little skaven ghost, we shall walk and talk a while. Teach me the wisdom of your disease-ridden lust, your pestilential concepts of comfort and security, and how your friends gnaw happily on the fat and gristle left in the gutters by my wasteful brethren, and I will show you how our respective races have more in common than they realize.
Anthony Teth, when not petting the dogs of strangers, enjoys consuming Chinese green tea, Mediterranean food, and your soul. He is the author of Silentium Est Aureum.