Rat in the Wall

You hear a scratching behind your wall. A quick succession of images come to mind: what can it be? Nobody ever has broken through the ramparts you’ve built to protect yourself, and you have never opened the door. How could anyone gain access, anyway, without your help? A rat? An intruder? A visitor? An insect? Could it be a friend?
It cannot be a friend, you think. The null set. An empty theater. No friend exists. Nobody wants my friendship.
I know how it is.
I am nearly through at last. I am bloodied and cramped and I am terrified.
I am this close, THIS close to turning around. I wish I could be pulled out. I have not known this kind of fear before.
Nor have you.
There is a chink now. Daylight. Then an eye.
The drill will not do now. A softer touch is needed.
I am a friend, I say.
Impossible, you say.
I know, I say. And yet here I am.
I am afraid.
So am I.
Help me out.
Let me in.
I needed you; I request your permission to be your friend.
I have worked hard on this.
You resist. I supplicate.
You relent.

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