Oh no! What shall be done! What shall I do? These were the thoughts that raced around my mind as I looked out the front door. It started when my pet rat, Mr. Bwik was running gleefully around the kitchen. I suspected nothing, I did not foresee it coming. Mr. Bwik happily made his way into the bread, infecting it with countless diseases, and then worked his way to the fridge, where he unloaded Black Death into Ma's refrigerated perishables. Still I saw not the horror that would arise from this average, every-day scenario, of a happy rat defiling a kitchen. I laughed as Bwikie urinated on the milk container, and giggled when I noticed a pile of his refuse on a plate of leftover spaghetti. Even at this point, I saw not the horror that was ahead of me. I suspected nothing. Nothing at all. How could this festive event turn to terror? How could my jubilant rat possibly cause harm? How could our gayness ever fade? In a split second everything changed: my brother entered the kitchen. Time stood still, as he looked at Mr. Bwik with contempt. The second that followed lasted an hour -- perhaps two! There was I, casually eating a horsemeat sandwich, looking at him, then at Mr. Bwik, then back at him.
Brother's face turned red with anger. His nostrils flaired, and sweat poured from his brow like Niagara. It cannot be described with words just how infuriated he was. He was royally whipped up, supremely peeved, as irate as a platypus in heat. His eyes were like needles, and they mentally poked at poor little Bwik's undernourished, innocent little body. I felt Mr. Bwik mentally cry in pain, begging me to help him. There was nothing I could do. It was too late. The damage had been done, and I was not to blame. My heart went out to the puny, seizured orb of fluff. In my heart I dreampt of taking his place; of having Brother's vengeance taken out on me, instead of on His Royal Furriness. No, 'tis not what fate had in store that day, not at all. The smell of doom was in the air. I could smell it. The smell was strong. Someone was going to die.
Mr. Bwik stared sternly back at Brother. Speaking with his eyes he spoke to Brother. He pleaded with Brother. He begged for pity, but was met only with the ice-cold Stare of Death from Brother. A tear formed in my eye as I saw the mental brutalization happening before me in the kitchen. The sight was horrible, and you're lucky you were not there. Mr. Bwik jettisoned fur left and right. He was prepared. He knew exactly what was about to happen, and he had accepted the destiny handed to him. It was his job, and his alone. He must take responsibility for it, and that's exactly what he did. It was about to happen. I feared the worst -- I knew the worst was upon us. I felt the aura of death on my skin. Pain. This is what it had all come to -- this is the end -- in a flash he was gone. In the blink of an eye it was over. He was gone, done for, finished. Surprise, anger, disgust. How could he? How did he? Can this be real? Can this possibly be happening?
Brother stared coldly at Mr. Bwik, and Mr. Bwik stared right back. Using speed comparable to that of a charged particle in a magnetic field, he lunged at Brother -- yes, Mr. Bwik flew from his post on the microwave directly at Brother! He landed smack dab on Brother's face. He writhed in horror as the large white meatball began to devour his face, and then worked his way through the rest of his body with the speed of fifty hyenas dining on a fresh zebra kill. In the time it takes a hummingbird to flap it's wings they were both gone. Mr. Bwik had completely ingurgitated Brother's body, and ran out the front door, never to be seen again.
As I stared vagrantly out the front door, the realisation came to me that they were gone. My beloved pet and companion had left me, and my dear brother was dead. What a horrid way to go! I'd much rather be pecked to death by crows -- or incinerated by a grease fire on the stove -- or even have my limbs ripped from my body by savages from the North, and then be beaten to death by my own hands, than to be consumed by a rat. What would I do now? Would the authorities believe me when I told them that Brother was eaten by my pet rat? What would Ma say? How could I go on with life, knowing that Mr. Bwik -- my friend -- my son! The beautiful creature I had raised since birth. How could I go on, knowing he had
killed my brother?