It’s just me and them. Day in, day out. All I can hear is their squeaking and skittering. I’m trying to get rid of them, I’m killing ten a day, maybe more. Twenty? Thirty? At some point it’s easy to lose count. But there are always more. Sneaking out of every crevice, wanting to take my food, every last crumb.
There aren’t that many crumbs left. I may have to start eating them.
My skin crawls at the mere thought. But in the end, meat is meat, isn’t it?
