THE RAT TRAP
by Claire Le Blond
Perspective: Rat traps across the Parkville and Southbank campuses
Get directions to a rat trap: 37°47’50.9″S 144°57’35.5″E
Ecosystems of affection: they circle.
Vultures preening, flying high above the toxic fumes of modernity.
Around, about, beneath, below, upwards and onwards.
The systems work as they are meant to; the balance is respected.
The organisms fester, the stench trailing, drip-drip-dripping through the cracks in the bricks. Humans sweat at such a peculiar pace, a single drop against polyester enough to tip a cotton scale. The pathways made, the thoroughfares made with a sandpaper feel, gravel scraping against exposed skin as journeys are undertaken.
The physical environment is full. Not to the brim, but just enough to make the barriers quiver. A cacophony, the callous conversations and fricative footsteps thud. The sound thuds along the stone, a trek with steps far out of harmony.
The definition of my actions is neither hatred nor love; it is cruel apathy. I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, only the vaulting imperative to pursue. While my noble counterparts gorge themselves on the sickly concoctions wrought from leftover meals and plasticine creations, I must wait. I must remain. I have no action other than to remain. To observe. To be cursed with a single-sighted focus, a single task at hand. I have no word on whether I find agreement with my task or if I would rather deign otherwise, stoop my stature to an entirely different calling.
The victim is always present.
I wonder if my task is truly beneficial. If I am truly making a difference.
So, as the jaws close in, the teeth sharpening on brick and cigarettes, the trap is set. The circle is set. A lone wanderer comes in. It is tiny, barely a mark against the cobblestone. It scatters, making next to no sound. It recognises my presence, with a cock of the head and the gentle swoosh. Echoes propel it forward, stenches and steps repelling it to my untimely clutches.
The rat dies.
I remain.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claire Le Blond (she/they) is a writer and theatre-maker with extensive credits across fictional and real-life dimensions. It is up to you to decipher the difference. Born in Sydney/Gadigal, currently based in Naarm, they are a mixed Southeast Asian queer creative with a passion for making art that has enough to say so that she doesn’t get asked about it too often. Le Blond has had writing published in Farrago magazine, and has participated in several productions within Unimelb’s theatre community.
Words from Claire
I spent a lot of time around Market Hall last year when I was working in student theatre. In addition, I work on the Southbank campus. In both locations, there are a secret abundance of rat/mouse traps. I can never look at these contraptions without feeling a peculiar sense of empathy for the pest. After all, they did not choose their vocation. They did not choose their path in life. So, I asked myself if the trap feels the same. Thus this entry was born.
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