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The Rat King's Rising Star

When the Rat King

first reached out,

I threw up in the gutter.

Who wants their mind

touched by that?


The throng of knotted tails,

the scrabbling, mouldy

mess of fur, the nest

of beady black eyes—foul.


But nobody else gave me

a home, a job,

a reason to continue.


I braid more rubbery

tails into the swarm,

ignoring the bites,

the desperate squeals.


I’m assured we will all grow stronger together.


To the sewer-depths the rats

bring finger-bones, half-eaten

apples, information. They found

my mother’s ring, once lost down the drain. They found

my father’s missing compassion.


And I can have everything back

if I continue to provide use

of my clever quick fingers,

extend the Rat King’s

influence to the slumbering

streets above, wrenching open

the storm doors of the dairy

warehouse so all may feast and nourish and


become.

Chris Clemens lives and teaches in Toronto, surrounded by raccoons. Nominated for Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions, his writing appears in The Dribble Drabble Review, Merganser Magazine, Dreams & Nightmares, Apex Magazine, and elsewhere.

Issue 11 Cover Art by Ninja Jo
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