Free Above His Station by Darren Craske

prompted another, and this one was notable in that it had not occurred to me before. Oddly, as it was beginning to increasingly exhibit the more time it spent in my company, again the rat seemed able to voice my thoughts as easily as I.
    ‘No blood. Not anywhere. Not even a drop. Have you noticed that?’
    ‘I have, yes,’ I said.
    ‘You’ve seen CSI , right?’ asked the rat, but I shook my head. ‘It’s what they always say. When someone dies, they always leave a trace. But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.’
    ‘Who said anything about anyone dying?’ I said. ‘As far as I can tell, there’s no evidence to suggest such a thing. I’d prefer to think that some sort of physiological mutation occurred to change them into birds.’
    ‘Still with the people turning into birds thing?’ asked the rat, doubtfully. ‘I think it goes a bit beyond that, don’t you? This city, this whole fucking planet for all we know, has been ripped inside out and upside down. Black is white and left is right. Nothing is as it was and how it is is fucking bonkers. Tigers and wolves prowling the Underground, flamingos driving about in clapped-out cars? I say that trying to apply any sense of logic to this mess is a waste of good fucking energy. Best we just stock up on supplies and find somewhere to take shelter until we can get to the bottom of what’s happened.’
    ‘They say that after a nuclear war there are only two species that will survive,’ I said, quoting the ever-reliable Attenborough (fast becoming my spiritual guide on this most surreal of journeys). ‘Cockroaches and rats.’
    The rat peered up at me suspiciously. ‘Your point being?’
    ‘That rats are natural survivors! It’s what you do! ’ I was on the verge of pleading with the bloody thing to help me, so I reeled my fervour in. ‘If anyone knows anything about how we can endure this catastrophe, then it should be you!’
    ‘I hate to burst your bubble, Gramps, but we don’t exactly come equipped with a built in survival guide,’ said the rat. ‘It’s instinctive . Shit happens, and rats only survive because deep down we’re all a bunch of fucking cowards! We find the nearest fucking hole and we fucking hide , man. That’s how we survive. That’s how we endure.’
    ‘Shame,’ I said, turning my nose up. ‘I thought you might at least have been some use to me rather than criticising my every move. You’ve done nothing but complain ever since I had the misfortune to clap eyes on you!’
    The rat furrowed its brow. ‘Is that how you really feel?’
    I said, unconsciously almost, ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘I didn’t have to come on this trip, you know,’ said the rat.
    ‘So why did you? Hmm? ’ I asked. ‘Just so you could rub my nose in it? Watch me make a fool of myself as I stumble about blindly without a clue what’s going on? Is that how rodents get their kicks?’
    ‘That’s cold, man,’ said the rat, hopping down from my shoulder onto the roof of a nearby car. ‘I’m just as confused about all of this as you are, and I was only trying to help. But if that’s the way you want it, that’s fine by me. See you around, old man . From now on, you’re on your own!’
    The rat scampered down from the car’s roof and onto the bonnet and onto the pavement and off down the street and down a side-road and then it was gone.
    *
    I stood in that same spot for well over half an hour, my eyes fixed on the corner where I’d last seen my furry companion, yet not once did I spot its little whiskers twitching, or its tail flicking like a whip as it gave me one last glance, or its beady little eyes urging me to apologise and make everything better. I was speaking out of turn, laying my confusion at its door, blaming it for my lack of knowledge, my lack of understanding of the situation. Once or twice I saw something in the corner of my eye and my spirits lifted, my sincerest apology over-rehearsed and waiting ever so patiently upon my lips. But it was