Rat's carer.

I can’t listen to silence anymore. The fear that I will hear Your voice is endlessly cursed. Words, words, words… Are they only sounds, or maybe something more? I write them down - first, however, I must hear them in myself, and sometimes even see. This is my „psycho-vision”, partly a gift, from the eternity, for the small, crazy and abandonned princess, without the golden sceptre and the throne. The glass floor, velvet walls, marble stairs …I go up the stairs, barefoot all the time, I am treading on cold marble. I grew up playing by the sewer, plying doll's houses, glass covered diaries, making them above the bank of the stinking river that should have been removed ages ago. I knew a rat, a good large Mr.Ploter. He was my pal in my youth, he brought me up in a strict way, without any sweet words, yeah perhaps sometimes he stroked me with his tail, tickled me on my calves. So it was such a strict and sexual friendship. He wasn't talkative, by charmingly stinky and his charm was based to great extent on his knowledge of the sewage world. I have often played on the banks of my river harbour, risking falling into the water and being driven away by the river current from which there was no way out. It never happened to me, however. Mr Plotter and his guys, looked after me so that I wouldn’t even wet a hem of my lace dress. He brought me sticks for my diaries and he has always marked places, in which I was making them. He would watch over them so they wouldn’t slide off the river banks and a dark brown water of the river wouldn't flood them. That was my little world of fairy tales which I remember. Land of childlike fun, for my only friend was my beloved Mr Plotter – a rat from the old rat's family. What happened to him – that I do not know, because he could never live with me, although I wanted it very much. Unfortunatelly, in spite of my requests, my mom was merciless. Eveen today I don't understand why? Mr Plotter had a certain style and charm, but she didn’t get it. For her he was a rat from lower classes and sewers. But is it impossible, there, in the in the world of garbage and underground corridors, to meet somebody interesting??? And even though you can't hear me, today I would like to say: thank you Mr. Ploter, my rat teacher, for your kind care on the bank of the sewer river, in the rat paradise.



by..by .... Suzi.