We were kids. Couldn’t have been older than six, that’s all I know. That’s as far as my memory can reach.
It’s more than far enough.
We were kids, and we were sitting in the barn. Staring at a dead mouse. Well, it wasn’t really a mouse. Not quite yet, anyway. It was still fairly pink. Poor thing. It was trying to be a mouse. It really was.
But it fell.
Instead of crawling or walking or scurrying how mice do, it fell from the rafters. Without even a single sound, it fell.
We were kids, and we were staring at the mouse, a giant lump in my throat and a stone in my stomach. An ache spreading through my joints as I thought about how such a small thing had died so soon. He hadn’t even really lived yet, the poor little thing.
And that was when he said it. Staring at the lost life before us, his expression receded in his sadness, he said it.
“One day, I’m going to be the Grim Reaper.”
It was a bit of a bombshell.
So, I’d said, “I thought you were going to be a lawyer.”
As somberly as he could—neither of us really understood it at the time—he said, “Mom says they’re practically the same thing.”
Continue reading “The Reaper, My Love”
Cat and mouse is not about the ending.
It’s about the start. The build. The two players, and, of course:
The inevitability of it all.
A mouse can run, and a mouse can hide, and a mouse can drop as many anchors, or ironing boards, or sharp objects, as he’d like, but it won’t matter.
You can’t stop a cat.
Not when they’re on the hunt. Continue reading “Mouse In Escape”
I was not thrilled when I was referred to the Clock Maker.
Not because he had a reputation for being strange—though he certainly did—and not because it meant climbing a mountain to reach the clock tower.
I wasn’t thrilled to see the Clock Maker because I wasn’t sure. Not at all.
And I knew that, if I spoke with the Clock Maker, I would be.
After all these years, I’d know just what time meant to me.
Could there be anything scarier? Continue reading “Marching Clocks”
Cameras capture moments.
I think that was a slogan for some… thing my college was doing. They wanted everyone to take pictures at this particular event, post them, tag them, blah blah blah.
But you know what I hate most about pictures?
You take a moment and you nail it into a frame. Rather then letting the moment breath and be in your memory, you taxidermy it because you’re not sure if you’ll remember it.
If you can’t remember it in ten years, then was it even worth taking a picture? Continue reading “Mouse as Art”