August 13

Midnight down a back alley and I am smacked with shock. Body sprawled on the floor, lying on its side, a pool of muddy red blood oozing from its head like a gunshot wound.

        Dead rat.

        I wonder how it was killed.

        I feel sorry for it.

        I peer closer, seeing if it will move, hoping it won’t, knowing I will jump if it does. It doesn’t. Still as the stone. The blood is staining. Big, fat, leaden lump of fur.  

The next day it’s gone.