The Trickster utters a curse against Ratatosk

July 5, 2004

This poor innocent was born to be a victim, as if a fuse was lit the moment he was born trailing him glimpsed only now and again, like a floater in the eye or a demon in peripheral vision that was not going away but could be effectively banished by avoiding the kind of sideways glances that strain the eyeballs and stretch taut the optic nerve. His demon thus unseen, Ratatosk continues to walk the lonely streets, convinced there is some other reason for his malcontented shambling gait. Lack of love, lack of excitement, a poverty of spirit and no friends he can really talk to. Never does it occur to him he is entirely ruled by a Fate he once offended, who has crinkled up his life around him until he wears it like a brittle frizzled burnt lizard skin. There is no rhyme nor reason to it, it is simply his lot. It was set in motion, and the deed forgot.



And the demon that has stalked him from the day he was born slowly gains on him, eyes dart sideways to movements in the shadows, yet Ratatosk has long convinced himself the demon is restricted to the peripheral zone, else it would have long ago spring-heeled it into his field of vision, not kept its respectful distance.

Only seen that time when he went looking for it. A brief flirtation with the occult, nothing more. So long since he saw it he no longer believes in it.

And slowly Ratatosk walks as a wand silently writes his name in the air towards the ‘encounter’ with the man with the dead fish eyes that thrust tiny slivered glass daggers into his soul and stands now before him mulling over the answer to a question it matters not if he miscalculates: does this hop-flea carry a wallet well-stocked enough to be worth bloodying my hands over? And far out of sight of this dead-fish-eyed man stands a demon being born from the spillage and like a newly born foal is shaky still on its feet but knows well its one task, to dog this evildoer’s footsteps a laser-sighted marker on his heart carrying the black flame relayed through time a DNA of evil there will be no end to until the bark of the dog that yelped it eats itself.