The Little Mouse

A Story by T. Jay Keigh

There once was a little gray mouse that lived under a stone bridge. It was a wonderfully made bridge with stones that reflected the sun’s rays and threw iridescent colors that dazzled many who saw it. Perhaps this was only true to the mouse, but this made the mouse very happy and proud to call it home. One day, two monkeys happened upon this bridge and met with the mouse who lived under it.

“Why, what a mighty bridge this is,” said the first monkey, the smaller of the two.

“Thank you,” replied the mouse.

“But it is quite dull, wouldn’t you say?” asked the second monkey, stoic and tall.

The mouse thought for a moment before speaking. “I can see how others may think that. At first glance, the stones are merely stones. However, they are smooth and polished, and they reflect the sun’s light in such a beautiful way. I happen to like it.”

But this was not good enough for the monkeys. “I am going to make it better,” the second monkey said.

The little mouse did not want to offend the monkeys, as they were older and wiser, so the mouse conceded. The monkeys began to take rows of stones out of the side of the bridge and replaced them with river stones from the water beneath. They came in all hues of colors- red, purple, blue, and even black- and put the bridge on display like a peacock. Yes, it was colorful and quite pretty, but it no longer threw its own colors. Its colors were dictated by the monkeys. But there were a few remaining rows of the shiny, polished stones from the original bridge, and this was enough for the mouse.

“Now, isn’t that better?” asked the first monkey, clearly proud of her work.

“It is fine,” the mouse replied.

“Is that how you thank us after all of our hard work? You are ungrateful,” retorted the second monkey.

“That is not what I said. I thank you for your hard work. But in truth, I happened to like my bridge the way it was. That is not to say, however, that this is not beautiful,” the mouse humbly replied.

“Well, we can make it better,” the first monkey said. “Come, let us fix it some more.” Before the mouse could say anything, the monkeys sauntered towards the bridge, rocks in hand, and began taking blows at the bridge’s pillars and the remaining original rows of smooth, polished stones. The rubble came hurling towards the mouse, cutting the mouse on the back and bruising the mouse in many places. The monkeys never noticed as they were engrossed in their work, even when the mouse cried out. The mouse could no longer be near the bridge and ran a few paces away.

The mouse looked on in shocked sorrow as the bridge was destroyed bit by bit and piece by piece. And yet, the mouse could do nothing but watch, paralyzed.

The pillars were rebuilt by the monkeys from mud that matted the monkey’s backs and feet, and the remaining rows were rebuilt from the very same stones that had then turned to rubble. However, they were placed in a way unlike how they were, and because they were jagged and destroyed, they no longer threw the sun’s light. The monkeys created images from the rubbled stones, which they thought would make the bridge more appealing, but because of this, there were many gaps and holes now. The monkeys walked toward the mouse when they were done, proud and dignified, and said, “Now this is better.”

The mouse, quiet now, could only look sadly at the bridge. The mouse thought for a moment, not wanting to offend the monkeys, but also feeling heartbroken by what had transpired. The mouse took a deep breath and spoke.

“I understand that what you think is beautiful may be different from my own, for we are two different creatures. And in a way, this bridge is as beautiful as it originally was, but-”

The second monkey cut off the mouse and said, “What are you trying to say? How dare you? Our bridge is by far superior than how it was. Are you saying that there is something wrong with the way we fixed this bridge?” he demanded.

“Not at all,” the mouse said. “I merely want to say that both are beautiful, but this bridge is no longer mine. It is yours. The bridge became something I can no longer relate to as there is no piece of me left.”

“But we used some of the original stones to create rows with pictures, ones that beautifully tell a story,” said the first monkey, confused as to what the mouse was saying.

“After those stones had been destroyed!” the mouse exclaimed.

“So it’s our fault that this bridge is ‘ugly’? You are so self-centered and selfish!” screeched the second monkey, furious at the mouse.

The mouse thought for a second about how maybe the mouse could be wrong, maybe this bridge was better. But looking at this new bridge, the mouse could no longer be excited to live under it.

“I do not think this bridge is ugly. Merely that it is not mine any longer. I’m sorry if I have offended you, but this bridge has no piece of me anymore. You’ve worked hard, and I can see that. I just don’t feel comfortable living here anymore. I was never asked what I wanted in this new bridge, even though this was my home.” Holding back tears, the mouse said, “I will say no more, as I do not want to offend you, but you will find me here no longer.”

And with that, the mouse turned and left, leaving the bridge and the two monkeys behind. As the mouse traveled along the riverside, she began to pick up pieces of gray, smooth stones for her new bridge, her new home.