I pounded the floor with the half empty water bottle, hoping the violent noise kept the rats far away. Except the little guy whose life had ended early. He wasn't a threat.
I considered moving away from what I just knew was a dead body, but this corner was my territory. It felt important to keep it, to show them I'm capable of holding my own even if they ganged up on me.
Maybe the dead body would also feed their fear, and they would stay away. I didn't think so, though, because less and less time passed between my pounding the floor and when the scurrying sounded closer.
And it was time again. I beat the floor with the bottle, the sound reverberating through the room, until my arms ached. Soon, I would have to change tactics.
My stomach growled. It gave me an idea. The next time the rats came closer, I unwrapped a granola bar. I ate a bite and threw a bite across the room for my roommates to share. Another bite for me and one for them.
