Someone stole my pen. That's why I couldn't write all these days. You know how difficult it is when you don't have your pen, don't you? I don't have to tell you all this, but still I feel morally responsible for not writing and entertaining you. Don't you want to know who stole my pen? I am the one who had stolen it. I hid it where no one could find it. I searched everywhere else to make sure that it wasn't there. I didn't tell anyone that I had stolen it. I was too lazy to confront the blank pages. I was too blank to string the words. I shut my own conscience. I am a thief.
Last night they discovered a human in the sewers, screamed the headline on Daily Vermin Times. Ed Rat paused to scan the headline and sipped his morning tea. He was in charge of the highly successful Human Extermination Programme. He came from the highly acclaimed family of rats that had unleashed Plague on the frail human race centuries ago. At that time rats used to be in the sewers and the humans used to be outside. Maybe they too had a Vermin Extermination Program. How ironic, thought Ed. We were destined to rule the world. We withstood their poison and laboratory tests. In fact, the tests made us stronger and resistant to the diseases. Now look at them hiding in sewers away from us, fearing us. The telephone rang. Ed woke with a start from his reverie. There must be something wrong, he thought. My room has shrunk, there are metal bars everywhere. It looks like a cell. I can see my cousins in another cell. They are all playing with something. What's this lump on my hand? What&#
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