A short story about the strength of perseverance!

Size Doesn't Matter 

By Rami Abdo

The rat poked its pinkish snout out of the rock wall only as much as was absolutely necessary. It took a couple of whiffs, savouring the myriad of aroma’s emanating from the dark room before it honed in on one smell in particular. It was a musky antiquated odour that caught its acute nose. After a short pause in which the silence of the room was reaffirmed, the rat emerged from its little hole and made a dash across the granite floor, pausing under an old sofa before heading straight for a large sturdy oak table. It clambered up one of the legs and found what it was looking for. Scattered haphazardly across the tabletop was a pile of ancient books of all shapes and sizes. Half were open, others were sealed shut with locks, and some weren’t even books at all, but more a collection of yellow stained parchments sown together with dried toad intestine

For a moment the rat felt overwhelmed with the wondrous buffet that lay before it, but it only lasted a moment. It hadn’t just climbed its way up the entire length of the tower only to marvel at the tasty morsels laid out so generously. Besides there was no time for dawdling, outside the open windows there was fire and chaos. A battle was furiously being waged between sorcerers and all the creatures they summoned to act out their bidding. Giant feral beasts pummelled each other on the grounds below. All manner of flying creatures soared across the sky, swooping and diving upon victims unaware. Occasionally a colourful flash of raw magic would burst forth from some obscure source, cutting a swathe of destruction across the hapless creatures. They would be incinerated in a shower of crimson fire or fall prey to another such gruesome death from the spells power. Even as the rat watched, a bolt of bright blue energy pulsated out from some part of the tower above him. It arched its way through the night sky like a lightning bolt before fully enveloping a ferocious dragon with a sapphire aura. The dragon froze in the air for a brief disengaging moment before it disappeared with a pop and a puff of sulphurous smoke. In its place there was a very confused pig. Unfortunately for the swine however, its uninvited transformation did not grant its wings to go with its new form, and so it fell squealing hundreds of feet below. It was promptly welcomed by the gaping maw of a gigantic muscular beast, which was only too happy for the unexpected meal.

The rat wasted no time and snatched the closest parchment it could find. It gnawed greedily at the dried snack, its sharp teeth working overtime to break down its food as fast as it could. It had barely gone through a single sheet however before a trapdoor opened up from the ceiling and a hooded male figure swathed in azure clothing descended from a ladder. His attire bore intricate swirls of white designs and a few shiny pendants hung loosely from his belt. The rat was so transfixed by this radiant display that it just froze in place, morsels of mashed paper still stuffed in its cheeks. The man glanced up suddenly and glared at the rat with glowing ivory eyes.

“Why you dirty little rodent!” the sorcerer yelled angrily as he raised his finger straight at the animal.

The rat squeaked and jumped off the table just as a wave of hot sparks struck where it had been feasting a split second ago. It fled from the shower of scorched papers and headed straight for the window. It scuttled through the opening just as another jolt of pure energy narrowly missed zapping its tail. It scrambled up the outside wall as fast as its little feet could take it, only pausing to rest when it reached the roof. Its eyes darted back and forth hastily, searching for an apt hiding place lest the hooded wizard find it again. Unfortunately, as it scoured the ground, it was blind to the new threat looming from above. With a piercing screech and a flurry of feathered wings the poor little rat was suddenly snatched right off the roof. The rat found itself fully airborne, held firmly in the clawed grip of a vile harpy. It bore the wings and feet of a bird of prey, but the body and head of a female. The rat struggled fruitlessly in its razor sharp talons, but when it caught a glimpse of its visage, which resembled that of a demonic succubus, it was paralyzed from fear and ceased to squirm. It resigned itself to its fate, for surely it was going to end up either as baby harpy food or as a stain on the ground far below. Instead it chose to marvel at the beautiful scenery and the monsters clashing below as its captor circled the plains, it’s tiny little brain barely comprehending the series of events unfolding over its wretched fate.

The harpy rose high up in the sky, suspending itself in the clouds for a short fleeing moment before descending once more into the battlefield. It dove at breakneck speed, the wind assaulting the poor little rodent as it felt its bones rattling under its skin. The scenery was zooming in faster than it cared for, and its little meal of parchment was slowly making its way back up from where it entered. Just before they met the ground the harpy spread its wings and lifted itself into a swooping arch and headed straight for the tower. Just as the rat was considering that with his luck he had been kidnapped by the one suicidal harpy, he was suddenly released from his confinement and found himself soaring unattended through the brisk night air. He watched the harpy pull away and veer out of sight, and with that danger gone, he decided to simply close his eyes and let sink in that joyful feeling of weightless freedom that all birds must quite take pleasure in as they breeze through the air. It was better than pondering over the ominous hard surface of the tower wall approaching rapidly behind him.

Instead of meeting his maker, the rat zipped right through the open window, bounced off the spongy cushion of the beaten sofa he had scampered under previously and landed with a plonk right on the oaken table of books from which he had just recently dined upon. Being a rat of the flexible nature and of fleeting disposition he found himself unharmed and thought why not continue his delicious appetiser with the main course of a pocket-sized leather notebook that he had been eyeing previously. That very same nature however had also caused him to forget the reason why his meal had been unceremoniously interrupted the last time. That reason was now seated right in front of him on a stool in front of the table, scowling furiously at the ravenous little rat as he was about to take a big bite off his most precious of diaries.

“How the?! Come here you!” The man bellowed madly as he tried to grab the rat with both hands. Not knowing any better than to submit to its instinct of fight or flight, the rat leapt forward, the notebook still in its jaws, and scampered up the wizards chest and face. Its unforeseen assault took him by surprise and he fell back off his stool in a heap. The last he saw of the rat and his diary was a long writhing tail which gifted him with a cheeky slap on the nose before it disappeared in a hole in the wall.

The rat found its way out of the complex maze of stonework that made up the tower and vanished into the undergrowth of the neighbouring forest. Behind it, the hooded blue mage was shaking his fist furiously as he expelled countless curses upon the poor rat. Fortunately they were not of the magical kind, and all they served to do was appease the man’s anger, for this measly little rat had gotten the better of him not once but twice in the matter of a few minutes.

As the rat happily munched upon the aged pages of its leather bound prize, hiding safely in its burrow deep underground, the war above raged on and on. Unbeknownst to the innocent little animal, that little book possessed a lengthy and complicated chant which was integral to the completion of a very vital spell, one that the mage had started numerous years before and was the key to ending the war. Its mind was too tiny and feeble to comprehend the consequences of its actions, or whether its acts that day were of its own volition. All it cared about was that it had woken up from its afternoon nap with a hankering for some dry parchment, and now it was nibbling away as merry as can be, all thoughts of evil wizards and despicable harpies having escaped its mind.

The End.

The Contraction of Accountability

By Rami Abdo

I am ashamed and confused. How can I elaborate over this duplicity eloquently? I am assuredly afflicted with a disease that millions of others share and spread on a daily basis. Perhaps the very fact of its wealthy abundance doubles as the contributing factor to its acceptance. ‘Communis Error Facit Jus’ I always say. It is a muddled mixture of emotions all stirred together in this cosmic pot that’s been fashioned together from an assortment of impositions and factors placed upon us unwillingly. I won’t bother expanding on these any further, goodness knows I’ve done that countless times already and by now I’m quite certain I’m preaching to the proverbial choir. I would much rather switch my attentions on the internal struggle that this disease invokes in us and how we could deal with it alternatively.

We have all endured it at some point or the other in our long prosperous lives. We might read an article depicting alarming figures of some sickening statistic, such as the astronomical number of people living in poverty or without homes. We might watch a segment on TV showing blood stained children clutched desperately in the arms of their anguished parents as their rubble strewn home looms in the background, all in the name of oxymoronic wars crying for freedom or resource control. I would whisper that these atrocities are terrible and perhaps even allow myself a moment of remorseful self-reflection before hurriedly moving on to the next item on my vast agenda of things that must be absolutely done today or else my feeling of inadequacy on having wasted my precious time would surmount my insecurities and threaten to drown me in sorrow. It is the me-generation after all, and there are all these shows that need catching up to. It is truly unfortunate that human beings are dying of starvation only a few hundred miles away, but that’s not my problem is it? Why should I have the weight of the world’s issues resting on my shoulders while virtually 99.99% of the population lives on as I do, not giving a second thought to the matter? How can it all be my fault? Who’s doing this sporadic finger pointing anyway?

I duly confess that I am one of these selfish masses. I have surrounded myself with the best of the best luxuries that the 21^st century can buy. I’m not talking sports cars and beachfront property second homes here. I’m easy. A working toilet and the internet are more than enough to sate my daily needs. I would sneer at the 1% sitting atop their high and mighty pyramid and occasionally I would pretend to shout in unison with my common man, especially when my working toilet is at risk of ceasing to function. All in the name of the fight to save the planet...whenever it’s convenient of course. However if my compassion for humanity is appealed to at a more demanding level, I will conjure up my excuse, picked randomly out of my pre-generated bag of goodies, and promptly move on with my life, albeit allowing for a snappy guilt trip that leaves a nasty lump in my throat. Call me content if you will. Call me lazy. Call me a self-centred egotistical vampire. It’s all true. No matter how actively or passively I support the cause I could always offer more;. I could sell all my belongings, move to Africa, and spend the rest of my days helping others all while living a minimalistic existence in a straw hut in the Savannah. Perhaps then they, whoever they are, will cease to call me idle and instead attest to my altruism, stating that he has done his part to help. The drop in the ocean becomes a slightly bigger drop.

The absolute truth of the matter is that I have lost my faith in humanity. We boast of our advanced evolution and our esteemed civilisation, yet we place more value in shreds of paper with faces on them rather than our own lives. We consume and eradicate our Earth’s resources, knowing full well our children’s children will suffer, yet we carry on as we are, all in the name of the now. We spend billions on wars and power plays when we could use that wealth to save humanity from its own self-inflicted suffering. We can beat our fists upon it as much as we like, but the sad fact is it’s too late. The amount of collaboration and trust it would take for the powers that be to set aside their greed, pool their vast recourses together, and begin that long journey ahead of surmounting real change is now just a far off pipe dream. Some continue to hope, and some fight every day of their lives to see it come true, and I commend them on their perseverance, for it is an honourable trait to have to desire a better world for their offspring. But I can no longer see what they see. In my eyes humanity has made its choice. We have set ourselves on an ever descending spiralling staircase that could only possibly lead to our own doom. I’ve come to terms with it now. I’ve accepted that I am one of the leeches; sucking dry from my environment and giving nothing back. Instead of being consumed by guilt and wallowing in my own self-pity however, I choose another road. It is a path inwards, into my own soul. There lies the responsibility for only myself and the people I care about; a significant and carefully selected handful of individuals who are the only ones permitted to judge me. They are my world. A miniature little world set with my own standards, my own morals, and my own goals. This makeshift world will come crashing down with the rest of them when humanity finally presses the wrong button or when Mother Earth has had enough of its parasitic freeloaders, but until this cataclysmic event takes place it is still my world and I am proud of it. It may not boast of being 100% environmentally friendly or possess any recyclable material, but at least I am the sole reason for its successes and failures. I can only point the finger of blame onto myself and suffer the consequences thereof. That guilt I can live with.

We can spend an entire lifetime trying to change the outer world, or we can instead divert our focus on ensuring the miniature one we were gifted with thrives to the fullest of our capabilities. All it takes is a profoundly life-changing realisation for one to accept the uncontainable vastness of their inevitable complacency and allow the blame of their actions to shift from outwards to inwards. With one fell swoop of the axe the fingers of culpability will twist around to our own chests, and ultimately we will become better people for it.

Steve and the Furry Egg

I know I know...It's been a long time. But I haven't been idle. Just working on super secret projects that are beyond blogger material. The inspiration is still there and still going strong, just directed elsewhere. In the meantime here is a little short story I put together just from a single simple action one morning...

Steve and the Furry Egg

A short story by Rami Abdo

“Shake it.”

“What? Why?” Steve looked up at me incredulously, then back at the lone egg sitting in the palm of my hand. It seemed to be on display, as if the sole purpose for the creation of my hand was to eventually show off this wonder of nature to the world around it.

“Just shake it.” I repeated myself. My insistence paid off. He picked up the egg carefully and shook it a few times. As soon as he did so his eyes widened, which produced a satisfactory feeling within me. “It’s like a dull thud isn’t it? A heavy cushioned rattle.” I tried to describe the sensation as clearly as I could but it wasn’t necessary. Once someone shook that egg in his or her hands no explanation was necessary anymore. It was a unique experience. “That’s not what an egg should sound like.” I said with furled eyebrows.

“Where did you get this from?” he turned it around to examine it, as if he was going to see something that shouldn’t have been there. It looked like a perfectly normal and unassuming egg.

“From the fridge. It’s been in there for 2 months. So...what do you think is in there?” I asked slowly. My question caused us both to stare at it again. We both didn’t want to answer it, even though in our heads the links began to form. Unsightly and sinister thoughts crept in without permission, and soon the overbearing silence emanating from the both of us was answer enough.

The ugly truth set in and we knew what had to be done. I pressed the button on the trash bin and the lid popped open automatically, its gaping greedy maw demanding to be fed. Slowly but surely Steve placed the egg as vigilantly as he could on top of the heap of rubbish. It nestled itself with abandonment atop a banana peel; cigarette butts and spaghetti leftovers becoming its new neighbours. We stood there and gazed at it intently for a few seconds.

“Should we say something?” I said finally after the overbearing awkwardness took over my rationale. It caused Steve to glance up at me very suddenly with an expression foretelling the fact that I had just suggested the most ridiculous concept ever for that exceptional set of circumstances, which I indeed had done so. My request opened up an array of philosophically challenging theories in our minds that were all simultaneously debated and resolved at once. The vast certainties of the cosmos stretched itself before us, and we dipped our toes into each of its infinite paths of existence. In that incredible moment the egg sitting atop our own generated refuse was a gateway to our souls. Our very humanity was in question...in danger. Everything we had ever achieved in our lives, our goals and ambitions, all the years under our belt, every choice we had ever made came down to this very instance of character. It would govern and judge our lives for an eternity to come.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Steve scornfully replied as he slammed the lid down and walked away. And just like that, the egg became just an egg again, and life was back to normal.