Busy Busy…

Packing for a trip just isn’t my thing.

I was gong through some of my belongings the other day, preparing for my trip in 2 weeks, when I chanced upon an interesting little cache of junk. While I was looking through my lower drawer, I discovered a box, which had a rusty padlock on it.

The rust around the padlock was clearly in an advanced state, as the lock, a flimsy 2 dollar one, as the thing snapped away with little effort from myself. It was around this point that I looked at the box in it’s entirety.

The box was like a biscuit tin, only on hinges, and was made of a metal similar to the padlock. the parts where paint had worn away there were large splotches of rust, though they showed no signs of breaking. The box also had an interesting design feature, possibly added post production, in the form of a piece of paper taped onto the lid with the words “DO NOT TOUCH” written in dark permanent marker.

As I began to pry open the rusty lid, I began to wonder behind my intentions for sealing a tin such as this. Perhaps there was a point to storing it away in the most seldom used drawer in the house. But then the lid became unstuck, and my thoughts were shifted.

I have to say, I was a little surprised at this one.

Firstly, it is interesting to note the smell: death and decay, old socks, and perhaps a hint of my last attempt at Indian cuisine emanated from the inside, momentarily forcing me to choke on my breath. A rag over my face quickly cleared things up, and so I had the chance to look inside.

All that was in the container was a shirt, a small one from at least a decade previously. The shirt was uninteresting in itself, though an ominous stain on the front seemed to draw me closer to the box. However, a brief inspection of the stain told me little, and so I was forced to take drastic measures.

Grabbing a pair of barbecue tongs, I began prodding the shirt. Nothing at first came up, but a small lump under the chest area told me that something was in there. And, since I had little else to do that day, I had to know what.

I picked up the shirt from the stain, and the lump came with it. The whole thing came to rest on a bench in the room, under a halo of light usually used to blind small animals in my spare time. But this was just as good, if not more unusual.

I began to feel around the shirt with the tongs again, and found a way into the shirt. With none of the regret I feel now, I removed the lump from the center. And then I dropped the tongs, remembering exactly why I had hidden the box all those years ago.

I had pulled out the rotted carcass of a rat, which had not complete decayed, trapped in the dry tin as it was. Nothing of the head remained, though small chunks of dry flesh still clung to the chest cavity. The smell was overpowering, and so I made sure to drop the body into my bin, with little success.

As it turns out, years ago I had been doing the same thing as I was now: hunting through my clothes in preparation for a trip. I remember that I had found that shirt, and decided to try it on. Disliking it, I had taken it off only to discover a rat scampering across the floor. I remember that I threw down the shirt, catching the rat under it, and then grabbing the bundle and trapping the rat inside. From there, I found one of my old collecting tins and shoved the bundle inside, taking care to avoid looking at it. I had a horrid fear of rats for a while as a child, thinking them too cunning to be a rodent and too numerous to not have already taken over.

My deed done, I placed a note on the tin, shifting slightly from the struggles of the rat within, in hopes that I would never discover the thing again. I told my parents that I had thrown the shirt out due to sentimental reasons, and life resumed as normal.

And so there I was again, staring down at a creature that had disturbed me years before. Even know, I feel that rats, much like cuttlefish and seagulls, are too many and powerful to not fear, and so I had no choice but to, as usual, hide the body. Pretty standard, I know, but I still don’t enjoy the unhygienic feel of carting around a breeding ground for all sorts of disturbing and potentially fatal beings.

Once the body was gone, dumped in an outside bin after several failed attempts to use a home-made catapult to fire the corpse out the door, I returned inside and disposed of the tin also. At last, I was free of that menacing burden, so horrific that I almost forgot about it for a time.

And so, I continue to pack, constantly on the prowl for any new dangers that may loom in the shadows. I hope that the rat served as an example to the other less than ideal members of the house, that I have no issue with removing any ‘undesirable’ elements. Creatures of the world, you have been warned, or so I assume, at least by following the idea that all animals can understand each other, much like in animal movies such as Open Season. We can only hope.

Yours Heartlessly,

Crane.

Crane Under Maintenance

I need a break.

I understand that my posts have become less frequent. I’m sure many would find this a tragedy compared only with the passing of Elvis Presley, though I am here to tell you otherwise. For, as I will explain in greater detail in a moment, things are a little difficult at the moment.

It’s that time of the year, when my staff goes on vacation for a few weeks, leaving me to look after my own affairs. Even Helga has left, off to some family reunion or another, and will be back in three weeks or so. Because of this, I have a problem.

Normally, I have others to do my duties for me, leaving me plenty of time to work on my posts and projects. Lacking my staff, the office has come to a screeching halt, and I have been left to clean up the mess. As such, my time is limited, and therefore so are my posts.

As soon as the staff get back, I will resume life as normal. Until then, I fear that my posts will be less than sufficient in quantity or quality, as I lack a group of people to inspire new projects for me.

That is why I am posting an open area of suggestion: I need something to work on, a project to entertain me that I can write about, and so I ask you, the readers, to send any and all suggestions that you can on things that I could read up on, learn about, and improve upon. If I like your idea, I will post the resulting tide of information. If I do not, then I suppose you just aren’t cut out for this kind of thing, and therefore you should leave this place at once.

Yours Openly (to a degree),

Crane.