*fold arms and tilts glasses* a long long time ago little Isabel decided to start writing about a mouse. She didn’t get far, just a page of tiny text. Today, Isabel decided to pull out her dusty old story and look at it. A little cringy, but she would like to put it up for review. Who knows what could come of it. Our little mouse protagonist and his mother are yet to be named. Enjoy.
“Don’t forget your jacket!” Mother called after me as I scurried off. I always forget my jacket. I gave myself a mental scolding, then quickly ran back and grabbed it off the coat hook. After glancing around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything else, I scurried back out, quickly checking for any humans, or worse, cats. You see, we live in Apt. 132 on Quincy Street. We used to roam freely around the apartment, but it wasn’t long before the people-folk moved in. There was a man and a woman, and two noisy, destructive monsters. My family was forced to retreat into a small hole in the wall. Our home is a bit cramped, but I love it nonetheless. It does a very good job of protecting us. As mice, there are many, many, many things to be protected from. Cats, people-folk, and harsh weather, to name a few. I skidded underneath the apartment door and hurried down the stairs. I have to be hasty in all I do, because I am bound, as you may know, to all those unwritten rules in the world of mice, the first and most important of which is as follows: NEVER BE SEEN. In my opinion it is rather vague, for whoever set that law in place certainly did not want us to hide from those of our kind, did they? Or what of the cats? It is ever so much fun to be seen by them, though it can prove awfully dangerous if you do not manage to escape. I suppose the rule refers to the people-folk, and in that case I certainly don’t understand why the time was not taken to specify. I shall now return to my story, and I offer my apologies for my extensive thoughts.
After clambering with some difficulty over the mail slot, I dropped to the ground. The cold air hit me like an icy wall. Struggling to stay on my feet, I found our street’s sewage cover and slipped through the small hole. The sewer is a rather convenient place, no matter how bad it may smell, for it is sheltered from the dreadful weather and is for mice the quickest way of city travel. It is easy to get lost, but once the patterns of turns and twists have instilled themselves in your mind it is possible to get almost anywhere your legs can carry you. On the streets, however, it is dreadfully hard to avoid the feet, sticks, and wheels of the people-folk, and avoiding being seen is nearly impossible. When you add all the disadvantages together you will most certainly see why I choose sewer-travel. As my mind made its way through vast fields of thought, my legs had carried me to my favorite place (excepting home, of course), the library. The library is nearly perfect, their only problem being that they have as yet forgotten to make a hole in their sewage cover. Putting every ounce of my strength into lifting the heavy metal plate, I just managed to squeeze myself out onto the sidewalk. Before long, I was curled up in a corner reading a new book. It is not easy to procure a book without being seen, but it is always worth it. When I read, I can step into the shoes of a people-folk, or cats, or fellow mice, or any number of other beings. It is quite fascinating to be swept into a different point of view. The world seems recreated and so drastically different from that which I know.
Today I read quite an enthralling tale which had a good many pairs of shoes to step into. I was on the sea, which came from a picture (how it did, I do not know), and aboard one of the people-folk ships, the Dawn Treader. Many different persons, mice and people-folk alike, sailed with me, and I became very good friends with my fellow mouse Reepicheep. However, time flies faster than the Dawn Treader does, and I soon had to return the book to the shelf with a heavy heart. Dinner awaited me when I returned home, though I was rather disappointed to find that it consisted only of mash. We barely have anything else these days.
“Walter! How could you have been gone so long?” my sister Winna cried out in a mocking tone.
“Books and time are things of different universes,” I replied jovially. I knew she enjoyed reading just as much as I did, and it was not in her nature to be cross with me for being late. Dinner passed in silence.
Well folks, what do you think? Part of Isabel went oof when she saw her old work, and part of her fell in love with the little literary mouse all over again. Any ideas of what to name the little guy? Would you like to read more?
P.S. Thank you guys so much for 25 followers! Y’all are super 🙂