The big, blackish rat sat upon the feast as a king upon his throne. Gord eyed the scene hungrily, his mouth watering at the sight of the trencher. Some incredibly wasteful person had discarded a slab of bread, soaked in rich meat juices and imbedded with succulent bits of things. It lay atop the garbage heap in the alleyway, and the rat sat peremptorily upon it. Gord stood nearby in jittery indecision-encouraged by hunger, restrained by fear. Then he decided to act. With a rapid motion he scooped up a pebble and flung it at the rodent. It struck the rat on its flank, but the creature didn’t run off as Gord had hoped. Instead, the rat bared its teeth viciously, voiced a horrid chittering noise, and advanced menacingly in Gord’s direction. With a frightened shriek, Gord leapt back, turned, and fled. Such a threat easily overcame the gnawing feeling in his stomach.

“Shiteater!” Gord screamed over his shoulder as he fled the huge rodent.

“Useless,” he thought to himself as he slowed and sought a meal elsewhere. “I am too small, too weak.” How often had this lesson been drummed into him?

Even as that thought came to mind, his brain fought to dismiss it, because the memories were too painful. Leena, the old scavenger woman who fostered him, had cuffed him and beat him at will-especially if he tried to hold out a scrap of food from her. Although Gord was quick and clever, he was small. He thought of himself as a runt, a coward, a failure. Now even a rat had made him run away, and Gord felt mean and miserable. He had to do something, anything; otherwise there was no reason to go on struggling to stay alive day to day.

Gord began running again, as if to escape from himself. “You’ll see! I’ll show you all! You’ll… see…” he chanted as he pounded through the narrow, dirty byways that were his home.