Sleepy Joe

The moon shone pale and cold over the deserted street. A lone streetlight flickered at the end of the sidewalk, as if its light would soon give out. Amidst the silence of the night, broken only by the occasional rustling in the bushes, a boy sat on an old wooden crate. His name was Joe, and he was twelve years old, but in his mind, he was younger. The people in the village called him “Sleepy Joe.” It always hurt him a little, but he knew they didn’t mean it in a bad way. At least, that’s what his mother said. She understood everything.

Joe stared at the ground. A dead rat lay there, flattened by a car. “One less,” he thought, and shuddered at the thought. His mother had told him about the rats that came at night. “Rats are bad,” she had said. “The big demon rats come for the souls that are lost.” Joe didn’t know exactly what a soul was, but he knew the rats were something evil. He had never seen them, but he heard them. At night, when he couldn’t sleep, he heard the scratching and gnawing in the walls of his room. That always sent shivers down his spine.

Suddenly, a soft whimper broke the silence. Joe listened. He couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from, but it seemed close, like a little bird trembling in its nest. Joe stood up, scanning the dark alleys, weakly illuminated by the pale moonlight. Then, in the corner next to the old, abandoned bakery, he saw something. A figure, small and crouched. Joe cautiously approached, his footsteps loud on the cobblestone.

It was a little girl, maybe six or seven years old. She was crying, her knees drawn up, her face buried in her hands. Beside her, there was a faint scratching sound. Joe felt his stomach tighten immediately. The scratching came from the shadows—and then he saw them. Dark, shiny eyes staring out from the darkness. Rats. Big, far too big, their bodies covered in black fur, their teeth long and sharp.

Joe froze, his hands trembling. He wanted to run away. “Rats are bad,” he remembered his mother’s words. “When they come, run.” But then he heard the girl’s whimper again, growing louder. She was alone, just like him. And the rats were coming closer, their eyes now glowing in the dim light of the streetlamp.

“Run,” a voice in his head said, but his legs didn’t move. Instead, he slowly walked toward the girl. “Hey,” he said quietly, his voice shaky with fear. “It’s okay. I’ll help you.”

The girl lifted her head, her eyes red and tear-streaked. She looked at him but said nothing. The rats were getting closer, their claws clicking on the pavement, their teeth gleaming in the darkness.

Joe swallowed hard. “Rats sleep at night,” he muttered, as if trying to calm himself. “They only come if you’re scared.” But his fear was there, in his stomach, in his head, in his heart.

“You have to get out of here,” he said, stretching his hand toward the girl. “Come, I’ll take you home.” She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes and reached for his hand. Her fingers were cold, and Joe could feel her trembling.

The rats were getting closer, and Joe could hear the low growls coming from their throats. Demon rats. Just like his mother had said. They came for the souls. But Joe didn’t have a soul, did he? He didn’t fully understand. But the girl surely had one. He couldn’t let them take her.

With a firm grip, he pulled the girl up. “Run as fast as you can,” he whispered. She nodded and started to run, while Joe turned to face the rats. He didn’t know what to do, but he grabbed an old broomstick leaning against the wall of the bakery and swung it in the direction of the rats. They backed away, growling and hissing, their gleaming eyes still fixed on him.

Joe swung the stick again, this time with more force. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, his voice almost breaking. For a moment, the rats stood still, as if hesitating. Then, they retreated, growling, into the shadows. But Joe knew it wasn’t over yet. They would come back as soon as he weakened.

The girl was now at a safe distance, watching him with wide eyes. “Come on,” Joe said breathlessly, “we need to keep going.” She nodded and ran back to him. Together they ran down the street until they reached the girl’s house.

“You’re safe now,” Joe said when they stood in front of the door. The girl looked at him, still trembling. “Thank you,” she whispered, and before he could respond, she disappeared into the house.

Joe stood still for a moment, the rats still lingering in his thoughts. He turned and made his way back. The street was empty, and the moon shone cold and indifferent as before.

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The International Day of Persons with Disabilities on December 3rd isn’t just another date on the calendar – it’s a wake-up call for all of us to finally break down the barriers that people with disabilities still face every day. Around 15% of the world’s population live with a disability, yet so many are still left out of society or struggle with obstacles that stop them from fully participating.

This day reminds us just how important inclusion really is. It’s not just about ramps and lifts; it’s about access to education, work, social opportunities, and building a society where equality and dignity are a reality for everyone. But let’s face it – there’s still a long way to go. People with disabilities are more likely to face poverty, discrimination in the workplace, and fewer chances to have their voices heard in politics.

But we can all do something about it! By promoting inclusive structures in schools and workplaces, challenging outdated attitudes, and creating an environment that’s accessible for everyone, we’re sending a powerful message. This day gives us the chance to raise awareness and shine a light on the struggles that people with disabilities face every day.

Let’s not just let this day pass by – let’s make it the start of real change and a better future for all!

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I challenge you to create stories about people with disabilities – no matter the length or genre, whether it's drama, fantasy, or mystery. Show us characters who aren’t defined by their disability but portrayed as complex individuals with dreams, strengths, and challenges. Let your stories help us see the world from new perspectives and pave the way for more inclusion in literature!

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