Why the Roach Hates the Rat

The long awaited final installment of the tale inspired by "The Golden Beetle, or Why the Dog Hates the Cat"

A wicked feeling had been festering the Rat’s mind. As his feet pitter-pattered across the ground and Roach’s wings bizz-buzzed in the air beside him, he doubted that his friend was really his friend. 

Leave, Roach had said. As if that was the right answer. As if leaving was really that simple. When else had a Rat and Roach had as much as they did in their Mooncrest home, and with no one but the other to share it with. Rat wondered if that was Roach's plan, to be the only one left so he could have all their trinkets and toys to himself. 

Rat would never allow it.

As his wings carried him across the final narrow street to Q’s apartment and Rat’s little feet scurried across the gravel below him, a fog thick with uncertainty settled over Roach’s heart. 

He’d follow Rat anywhere and thought of him as his own blood brother. But stealing for humans he despised didn’t sit right with him. 

He was beginning to wonder if Rat had taken one too many beatings, and if their mission was truly deluded. 

Roach had wings, he should fly off right now. The shock of it would surely bring Rat back to his senses and they could figure things out the right way. But what if Rat kept walking? What if he saw Roach fly off and thought the worst? Would he feel betrayed or abandoned?

Roach looked down, to find Rat squeezing himself through the small abyss leading into Q’s home and knew they could no longer turn back. 

Roach emerged through the hole into Q’s house, to find Mouse looking up at Rat from beneath her long curled lashes. Rat kissed her as if he was devouring her.  

Roach had seen his friend with plenty a woman, but never had he seen him handle one so aggressively. 

Wordlessly Mouse led them through the cramped crannies of the house then stopped outside Q’s bedroom door.

“Mhmm,” Rat said, nodding as she squeaked and squawked in his ear.

“They turned the dice into rings,” he translated, “and each man wears one.”

“This is a suicide mission,” Roach said. 

Rat shook his head and shoved a pouch full of powder into Roach’s hands, “With this we won’t be the ones dying.”

Roach stiffened,“What is this?”

“Two doses of arsenic, a pinch of cocaine, and a thimble of rat poison, they should die instantly.”

“You mean to turn me into a murderer, over a pair of fools who’d use your pelt as a thumb warmer and pluck out my wings for fun?”

“Why can’t you see that this is for us? An act for us. A so-called ‘murder’ that you can’t even be imprisoned for because you’re a roach and I’m a rat.”

“We’ll fall to moral ruin, we can’t take this back,” Roach said.

“Fuck your morals,” Rat said, “this is the life I’ve always wanted and I’ll not have it ruined because of you. Now take the bag, hold it open and fly over their faces. I’ll handle the rest.”

Under the shadow of the now open door Roach battled against his heart. And as if against his will he felt his body rise into the air and move towards the sleeping figures. 

He hovered over their faces, taking in the deep brown of their skin, the thickness of their eyebrows, the restful wrinkles of their mushed sleeping faces, and let the pouch fall open. 

The poison powder piled high in one man’s mouth, then again in the next’s. As Rat wrestled the ring off of Q’s finger he motioned to Roach to handle his lover’s.

But that was no easy task. The man’s hand was balled into a fist and with Roach’s mind riddled with guilt, he had neither the strength or wit to get the ring loose. 

“Can’t you do anything right,” Rat hissed.

“It’s stuck,” Roach said, “We need to leave, there’s nothing more to do.”

And that’s when he heard a gut wrenching crunch.

He looked down to see Rat’s face covered in gristle and blood, his mouth working away at the man’s finger. 

A howl filled the air. Roach thought it was his, but it was too deep, too guttural.

The man’s eyes were open and pinned on the mad rodent.

He tried to wake his partner, but the arsenic had done its job and Q’s heart had stopped beating.

Crunch crack, went the Rat and the air thickened with frenzy.

The victim was on his feet and began slamming his hand against the wall. 

wham

WHam

WHAM

He went. But Rat wasn’t letting go. 

And then, with a dizzying squelch, the finger detached and Rat went flying with it. 

The man swayed, poison quelling the adrenaline in his veins, and fell dead on the floor. 

Rat slid the ring off the severed finger and threw it near Roach’s feet. He walked out the door, bone and blood braided into his whiskers.

Roach gazed at the dead man and knew that the creature outside was no longer his friend.