mouse

A pumpkin carved and placed outside. There’s a woman watching a television show where there should be a fireplace. I don’t know why there should be a fireplace there, but there should. Maybe It’s because I still want to believe in something I never did. Santa Clause. I can’t believe in television anymore. Not since it cut out on me during the super bowl. I’d rather believe in something I can’t see. I’d rather believe in a jolly old man singing as he works at the top of the world with a bunch of small toy makers singing the supporting chorus line of love and existence. The little girl who carved the pumpkin was told to be neither seen nor heard. She’s outside staring at her pumpkin. She’s not allowed to play with matches. Who am I? I am just a mouse. A simple rodent with a simple life. I’ve found a home here and must stay unseen and unheard if I want to enjoy it. It’s not difficult for me, but I’m just a mouse. My world is much larger than theirs in a smaller space. When I go to the basement I am able to find amusement in simply crawling up shelves and running around amongst the unfinished trainset the father has started to build. He hasn’t been down here in quite some time. I often wonder if I should work on it for him. I could detail it on a level that he wouldn’t see. Little by little I could add to it. He would never know it was me doing so, and perhaps if he visited often enough, may never notice the progress until it was finished. I wonder if then he’d believe in something he couldn’t see. I can work by candlelight as to never draw suspicion, or to be seen obviously working it a fully lit room one of the dwellers were to walk in on me by surprise. I have excellent hearing but am a meticulous worker when I want to be. That’s something you may not know about mice. We are only ever snuck up on when lost in complete thought working passionately on something you left unfinished. Maybe to help you believe in something. You provide the house, and we finish what you’ve started, something small enough, to when you find it completed you overlook it. You, humans, are quite notorious for that. You notice what is unfinished or out of place, or uncleaned, but when everything is as it should be, you pay it no mind. This is how we coexist. We are the cause behind the things you take for granted. You provide us the house and crumbs and we provide you with a cleaner floor and a sense of accomplishment. You feed our bellies, we feed your ego. I am particularly skilled in striking matches, though I’ve burnt a whisker a time or two, this is how we learn. The flame that burns us is the same that gives us light. Perhaps I will light the pumpkin outside, although I have taken a liking to the child you ignore, and would rather she doesn’t get into any more trouble.