A Fictional Viewing From a Bedroom Door ajar

From within
A sliver, over cast: the clouds, a throne superimposed over a perspective drawing of a staircase, apparently leading to theater box seats.
Are we enacting Beckett's End Game or the individual vignettes of Foot Falls?
 
  I remember the antique rocking chair -that my step dad insisted we move from place to place- now only elevating previously worn clothing, a few church bulletins & an old shoe box (with who knows what inside) resting beneath it's seat. These things seemed privileged with all the anonymous piles simply on the floor & under foot. Just one rat materialized from amongst the detritus; I felt confidant as a young savage with a blunt spear; the thrust was reciprocated with the rat's leap -at least five feet in the air. I now stood atop the bed as frightened as the surprise the rat felt of being shoulder level without legs to rest on. It was found a few days later in the live trap down the hall, it was enraged at the thought of it's own domestication. A day later it was dead, from what I'd like to think internal bleeding, it appeared to be in obeisance to what we'll never know.