He
stands knee deep in the river, playing his jaunty, hypnotising tune,
sometimes struggling to keep his balance against the relentless
current. Behind him, wave after wave of rats march purposefully into
the fierce waters, only to be snatched away by the ferocious surge of
the river. He feels tears build behind his eyes, yet he continues to
play. Every minute hundreds of lives are snatched away, bringing an
inconsolable sadness to his heart, but he continues to play. Even as
those tears become sobs, rolling down his face and racking his body,
he continues to play: summoning the helpless hordes to their watery
end.
How
long does it take? An hour? A day? He does not know, time loses
meaning for him: all he's aware of is his lips at the pipe, the tune
he plays and the untold death it brings. Eventually, inevitably
even, the last of the rats approach, throwing themselves without
thought into the unstoppable torrent. As the last of them dives in,
something in his heart snaps. He ends his tune, looking down at the
floundering creature. Before the water can drag it away, he scoops
the bedraggled rodent out of the water, to carry it to the farthest
bank.
