Criss-Cross
I like the way the lines criss-cross each other. Criss-cross criss-cross. The great screaming things down here need them to move.
I like to follow the lines too. Just patches of light above me as I creep along them. The metal is nice and cold on my belly. The ground rumbles sometimes and I rumble with it.
The bright places I do not like. I stay away from them.
There are fun things down here, like crinkly plastic wrappers and shiny bottles. Delicious things too like the rats that squeak squeak squeak when I hold them by the tail. I like to watch them spin as I dangle them. Squeak squeak.
I usually bite on them headfirst, saving their big fat bellies for last. I keep the tails to make things. I have a beautiful necklace and matching bracelet now. I have thought that maybe I should do something with the teeth. But I’d have to take them out of their heads. I think the teeth might be a part of the nice crunch, but I’m not sure.
I have lots of little pools down here to bathe in. Each one is a little different because the liquid comes from different places. More pools when it rains and lots of variety.
I do not like it when people come down here. This is my place. My criss-cross lines. My rumbles and wrappers and rats.
