The Jaws of a Rodent

Fifteen years ago, when the very ground below us became blanketed with the thick, unbreathable smog, the only way we had left to go was up. The few who didn't manage to fall ill spent months attempting to build skyscrapers to salvage all that was left. They turned out to be mostly just skeletons of a sound structure, warped wooden platforms held together with metal beams and wooden planks hundreds of meters above the ground. Despite the distance, the fog is still smothering and grey, though my grandfather insists that it was much worse during his time below. When I was younger I used to pry for information about where the fog came from, but my grandfather would often just look askance and somehow avoid my questions. I still often find myself wondering how my mom could have possibly welcomed a child into a world full of wretched smog and swaying towers, but I'd never say that directly. I'm well aware that my family does all that they can for me, despite the circumstances.

My favourite gift I've ever received was from my grandfather, which I was supposedly gifted at birth, and have kept around my neck ever since. Nearly weightless, the thin gold of the heart-shaped locket hangs from a delicate chain that has managed not to break or tarnish after so many years of fighting to survive. I've spent collective hours trying to pry the two sides of the locket apart to no avail, and have since stopped trying. My grandfather suspects it was sealed long ago by my grandmother, who I never had the fortune to meet. He speaks fondly of her in the rare moments we get to hear stories of his past. I sit beside him now near the edge of our home platform, staring down into the decomposing city below. My mother's gone to the trees again to forage for dinner, but my grandfather and I have no work left today. The sunset over the city was probably breathtaking before, but now it's just a painful mockery of something incredible. Regardless, we sit to watch the sunset nearly every chance we get, even through a vision that's obscured by fog, metal beams, and often tears. We remain silent most of the time, out of respect for each other's variant griefs. I spend all of my time with either him or my mother. You don't get many opportunities to make friends when the only other people that you're certain exist live several storeys below you and only come by occasionally to trade resources.

I speculate that the plan for humanity was originally to build the towers as a temporary solution, then revert to land again once the fog had passed. Somewhere along the way, workers must have concluded that the fog was not going to dissipate within their lifetime, and thus put half the effort into the towers their children now live in. Supplies and skill are now both limited resources, so our flimsy home remains quite literally on stilts. I'm just about to ask if we should head back inside when my grandfather suddenly stands, and when I turn to look at him his eyes are wide and he looks alert.

"What is it?"

"Shh..."

He moves silently to peer off the edge of the platform, then turns to face me again. At some point, I've stood up as well, but I can't remember doing it at all. My heart pounds and I instinctively clutch my locket in my fist as he raises his arm and points to our home about ten meters away, and I quickly nod my head as I understand in an instant what's going on.

The rats are not rare to encounter. Most of the time the only danger they pose is dragging away leftover food and personal items, but I can tell that this case is different. Two breeds of rats exist within our environment. One variant is supposedly unchanged from the original and lives solely within the same confines as we do. The other variant travels from the city to our towers and back again as they please, and they're quite distinguished from the original breed. The new species adapted to their circumstances on the ground and in the air, creating a larger, more agile, and much more territorial and aggressive rodent that will attack anything that stands in the way of what it wants. The rodents are known to travel in groups, and I've known people personally that have not survived an attack. They climb up to our towers and will most often attempt to throw their victims off of their platforms and into the city streets below. It's sickening just to think about, even after encountering them several times on my own. My grandfather's distress indicates to me that he believes we are in danger, and my legs feel numb as I slowly carry myself across the wooden platform towards our home.

Once I reach the doorway I make the critical mistake of turning around for just a moment to see if my grandfather is following me. For a split second, I see him reaching out from several feet away, shouting something that I can't distinguish before I'm thrown off the platform by a blunt force against the back of my head.

I'm falling for only a few seconds but it feels like an eternity as I feel my body tense up and see my life flash before my very eyes. Too soon to be the street, the air is knocked out of my lungs as I land hard on my knees and forearms on a wooden platform just five or six meters below my home. The rodent lands half a meter ahead of me, and I stand up as quickly as I can on what feels like at least one shattered kneecap. My grandfather's shouts above me are no match for the sound of my own heart as I get a solid look at my opponent for the first time.

The rat is easily the size of my entire head, and it frantically calls out for backup in a high-pitched unrhythmic cry that makes my blood run cold. My feet feel stuck to the ground and my fists feel heavy at my sides, and I realize my only chance of surviving this is to fight. I have no idea where I am, or how to get back up to my platform from this location. The rodent in front of me is at nearly every advantage, but there's a possibility I can knock it off the platform before it gets me. I have to bet my entire life on that odd chance. I'm granted no time to strategize and barely any time to raise my fists in front of my face before the rat is running and pouncing on me again, too impatient to wait for its summoned aid. The combined weight and momentum knock me flat on my back, and once I'm on the ground the animal jumps repeatedly on my chest and ribs as hard as it can. The feeling of sharp claws breaking through my skin and the blunt force of the animal on my lungs knocks the air out of me once again with a defeated scream this time, and I find myself unable to move. The rat stops jumping moments after I stop moving, and tears are falling freely from my now closed eyes. I've never been more certain that these are my last few moments alive.

When I don't feel any movement for several seconds I hesitantly open my eyes and find the rat sitting on my ribs with its head down, sniffing around the gold foil of my locket. With unexpected caution, the rodent gently takes the golden heart between its overgrown teeth and rips the chain clean from my neck. My mouth falls open in shock as I watch the animal turn to the side, and I hear the faint, metallic crunch of teeth breaking the surface of the locket.

"NO!"

I almost forget my grandfather is still watching from above until I hear him call out at the same time as I do. His voice is somehow even more pained than mine, and I realize exactly why when I notice the pure, white mist erupting from inside the jaws of the rodent. It spreads quickly and engulfs me and the rat within seconds, though it doesn't have any immediate negative effect on either of us. The rat scurries off of me moments later, retreating somewhere below the platform. Without the weight of the animal on my chest I finally take in my first proper breath since the incident, and the mist emanating from my locket freely fills my lungs.

The air in my lungs is refreshing in an unfamiliar way, and not just because of my recent lack of oxygen. The mist that I can now see spreading for miles in every direction is detoxing not only my body but the world around me as well as it cuts clean through the grey fog and destroys it on contact. After only a few minutes it feels impossible to recall the previous breathing conditions that I've lived with my whole life, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the new light pouring in. I feel reborn. Suddenly remembering my grandfather, I turn to face him once again. I have never seen his face display even half the emotion I see in just his eyes alone.

It's enough to bring tears to my own eyes as I shout up to him in disbelief, "It's gone."

My grandfather shakes his head once but does not once look away from the city skyline when he responds, "No, darling. Our world is back."