Blaire sits in the dark, familiar attic, listening to the scuttle of tiny feet, some abruptly stopping as a snap sounds, and then the squeal. The squeal is the definition of the sound of agony- the rats in the traps watch as their rat friends and rat family scurry past, not caring that one of them, one who just a few minutes ago was their same, is slowly dying. She tightens the scratchy blanket around her bony shoulders. If it was anyone they would have been crying and removing the rat’s tiny feet from the trap’s clutches, but her matured mind is blank from all emotion. One more adventuresome rat climbs up her knees, which are drawn to her chin, in search of food. Realizing Blaire has none to give, none even for herself, it hurries back down, not bothering to think of anything but survival. Its life is focused on getting food and having sex with whatever rat comes in its way, hoping to pass on its sorry genes, genes that are practically indistinguishable from any other rats in the world.
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