Pitter-pat pitter-pat echoes off the walls and tiny mouse feet push the mouse body through a frenzied zig-zag and into a corner. He waits in the dark. In a minute, his heart slows and his muscles relax. His eyelids are heavy as acorns, but he waits.
His whiskers tingle with a warm breeze from above. He tenses his muscles.
Pain! The mouse flies end over end through the air and hits a wall. He feels the warm stench on his whiskers as the silent terror approaches. His side feels hot from the tearing impact.
The little mouse waits. He can't see. He can't hear. But, he can feel the hot breath move over him.
He waits.
He feels the cold nose touch him. He wakes up and punches the hated face with his hind feet. The mouse bounds into the dark and leaves the hissing screams of his enemy behind.
The mouse hurries along with a purpose now. He stops along an especially long wall, and scurries back and forth until he feels a familiar buzz along his spine. He hunts for the right crevice and pushes in. Tighter and tighter the walls press into him as if to tell him to give up and go back. Moments later, the walls release him and he falls out into a room as bright as the summer sun. He runs back and forth until he finds a shadow to hide under to rest his blurry eyes.
He smells death. No rotting flesh, no gaping toothed maw. Indeed, no life of any kind overcomes the smell of this new kind of death. If he were other than a mouse, perhaps he would ponder its meaning. He would recall the other times he escaped here and the new terror he felt, though not so much now. But, he is only a mouse, so he isn't aware of his past, only that he is relatively safe.
Soon, his eyes adjust to the brightness and he sets about the bright tiled floor. There's a new smell. An animal smell that's familiar, but not friendly. It's stronger, fresher. The mouse is fearful and excited. Along with that worrying smell comes the smell of food. The little mouse scurries and scurries all around until he finds the center of the inviting scent. It's above. A forever upward. He can't reach high enough. He can't leap high enough. He sits, impotent, under that glorious food. He's but a mouse; otherwise, he would feel a twinge of frustration. But, he does feel a twinge of frustration, like an unwelcome aunt knocking on the door. The little mouse doesn't know what to do with this new emotion. He decides (as much as a mouse can) and wanders back and forth beneath the food. He finds no way up, so he starts walking in circles, wider and wider, investigating the various walls and polls that block his way.
A wavy, thin and soft even to his tiny paws, hangs down a bit over his head. He can just touch it, stretching fully on his hind legs.
A hop up, and he's at the stuff with all four paws. He crawls up and up to forever high until he clambers onto a long narrow that holds the wavy up. He runs along the long narrow, hopping over shiny loops until he gets to the end. He sniffs and finds the scent is faint. He runs the other way. At the end of the long, he smells the food. It is a strong scent. He squints his eyes, and sees a surface nearby but far below him. Is this where the food is? He leaps from the end of the long, out into space and falls a near forever down. With a timid thunk, the little mouse sits on the cold surface. This surface has its own smell. A tang, like the structures that sometimes hold him prisoner when he's especially careless, and those structures that hold all the other mice, long since dead. He is but a mouse, so he only remembers his own mousiness of a moment past. He sniffs again; along with death, the tang brings forth the warmth of other bodies huddles together and safe. He feels a new sensation. Regret.
He pauses seconds before he scurries back and forth, zeroing in on the joyful scent.
Fresh! He tears into crunchy leaves. New! He burrows into soft clouds of food, sweet and filling -- like nuts, only better. So many strange foods and so many more familiar. He squeaks a joyful call for his clan. No one hears him.
YOU ARE READING
And, he will Call Himself Prometheus
Science FictionThis thing needs rewriting. I think this was part of a contest, but I can't remember anymore. I remember it was fun to write.