rhinosplode

Feeble
by Will Burdick

Part 1

The light enters through the hole and fades into the darkness. As the mouse approaches the light, its black eyes begin to adjust. Its feeble form moves slowly into the open. Its broken tail drags behind, crimped in the middle from an encounter with a trap. The fur begins to itch; the mouse stops and scratches with its hind foot. It claws away at the dry, brown fur. The mouse looks around the room. An empty trashcan and dry detergent are piled high in the corners. Torn clothing lies on the ground and hangs loosely from the chairs.

The feeble mouse gnaws on a brown orange peel left on the floor next to the washer. It has a dagger tooth in its mouth. The frail dirty lip twitches at the taste of the dried peel. The mouse watches the walls sweat. It is so very hot and the mouse grows weary and begins to feel heavy. This mouse chews on the soft, limp lint that hangs from the dryer. The tentative legs carry the mouse to the empty coffee cup. The pale nose sniffs at the sides. Its little feet scrape the stains, hoping for something, even if it is an odor of something edible. The mouse sits back on its broken haunches and cranes its neck into the air sniffing and searching for some other place to look for food. It looks at the stained chair, the empty bottle, and the torn sock. The mouse sits there and waits. It waits for nothing, maybe for an end. The mouse waits for an end that will silently pad in and snatch it by the throat and run off. The pale fragile nose sniffs the air and discovers a new smell, a real sensation, something different, not stale or dead, but alive and pulsing with flavor. It scurries on its little ugly feet in the direction of the slight breeze that carries the smell. There it is on the stair, a fallen delicacy. A large portion of a melted chocolate bar sits there. The black eyes eat away at the sight. It is warm; the broken whiskers can feel the heat from a few feet away. The smell is overpowering. The dagger tooth gleams as the feeble little mouse prepares to ascend to it. Up the stairs it struggles. The little legs claw at the shallow steps. The cement scrapes its belly raw. The veins pump and the heart begins to quicken as it climbs the next stair. Finally, on the third stair, there it is, the feast, the smell, the paper, the foil, it is all there, unspoiled. The mouse quickly begins to eat.

Two more eyes rise above the stairs, above the feeble mouse. They narrow and move closer and closer. The feast is in full progress, but the sweet smell fades as the feeble mouse smells something new. It is acrid, frightening and dangerous. The thin veins pulse as the mouse looks and sees a dreaded sight. A cat springs down the stairs. The mouse turns and scampers away from the only thing that it wants. The paws leave a little track of chocolate as it races for home. The cat lashes and bites down at the mouse. The little legs tire and begin to fade as the mouse cuts, turns, dashes and races for its home, for its life. The mouse flicks up its broken tail as the cat brings its foot down right behind the mouse. The mouse's blood quickens and with a final burst of energy, the mouse shoots into the hole and speeds into the corner away from the light. The cat crouches in front of the hole and watches, eyes moving from one side of the hole to the other.

Two more eyes watch outside in the heat. Two small feeble hands grip the rusted, iron grate that encloses the basement window. The little boy looks down at the cat and then back at his candy bar. He wants it back now. It is the only thing he had wanted all day. When he saw the mouse and it was so hungry he thought the mouse needed it, so he dropped the rest of it down the grate and onto the stairs. The cat had taken away both what he and the mouse wanted. Mouse, cat, boy; boy, cat, mouse. They watch each other and the candy bar melts. His hands grip the iron tight and he hangs his head. He stands slowly and walks down the alley. He looks at the walls as he walks still wet and humid. The smell is unbearable. Too many dumpsters have rotting food in them. He looks down to the far end of the alley. There is the faint warm green-gray light glowing. It is the beacon he looks for but also dreads nearing. He is scared, shaking scared. The dark frightens him more than anything. Even in the uncomfortable heat and sticky humidity he shivers as goose bumps run over his arms, up his back and into his stomach. There are so many evil things that go on in the dark. Drugs, murders, monsters and other possibilities. He has awful visions of monsters creeping from the shadows and grabbing him. He bends down to tie his shoe and he looks at the puddles forming in the middle of the alley. A very faint reflection of his dirty face waves in the puddle. His broken shoes and sagging socks are uncomfortable in this heat. He looks back at the light and takes a few more steps. He tries to think of things that would not scare him. He concentrates on the light at the far end. His home, but that does not help at all. It seems to get farther and farther every time he blinks. He starts to shiver even more. A knot grows in his throat. He sidesteps to the edge of the alley out of the middle and he clings to the wall. He is afraid if he lets go he will fall or be swept away. Someone or something will come along an d snatch him up or bowl him over. The walls are wet as he takes his small steps walking over bottles and newspapers. He presses his fragile, little frame to the wall. It is comforting. He thinks he could make it to the end if he does this. His shoulder grinds into the bricks with each step. It hurts but it is better than being carried away or snatched up, it is worth it. More monsters enter his mind, figures start moving in the shadows and in the darkness. His eyes stretch wide and then they shut tight. His eyes begin to water. The smell of the alley changes. It does not smell of food anymore, but of viciousness and anger. It is stinging his nostrils and he turns around. There behind him are two eyes looking down at him. They narrow and move closer. A fist clenches a chain, and passes in front of the little boy. He let go of the wall and makes a move to the other side, but the massive form moves in his way. He turns and begins to run. He runs into a dumpster and then a trash can. His knee begins to bleed but he runs and as fast as possible. He hears the footsteps behind him. They are not heavy or thundering but more quiet and coming right after him. He hears growls and screams behind him. He feels his heart pump, the same way it did when he watched the mouse outrun the cat. The green-gray light is coming closer and closer. Hands, actually fists or even claws close in around him out of the corner of his eyes. He runs and then the chain appears. It lashes out at him and hits the ground. The chain strikes the ground and sparks peel off. He is not going to make it, he has no hole to run into, he only has a large street to run out onto.

He is blown to the ground and the air rushes out of his body. He lies in a puddle of water and motor oil. His hand reaches for the light just inches away, but it will not help him. He wishes he could grab the warm gray-green light and throw it at the dark figure that grabs at his ankle; it still would not help. There are no more footsteps. No chain, no eyes, no fist, and no footsteps. His eyes become slits, blurring with water and tears. He begins to speak but everything goes black as he is pulled into the alley.

Part 2

He opens his eye as much as it would allow him, and below the ground moves slowly. He is above the concrete and he can see the pavement and the corner of the street. Two feet are moving slowly below him, the feet shuffle in two brown shoes that are old and creased. He tries to move but very little energy is left in him and two very strong arms are holding him tight, not painfully tight, secure enough that he will not fall. He notices that the feet have stopped at a door, a door that looks unfamiliar. There is a blue glow coming from the door. A large dark hand reaches for the doorknob and opens it up slowly. He is taken inside. Everything has a blue glow as he is carried down linoleum tiled hallway and carried up countless flights of stairs. He smells soap, detergent, and other cleaning products. Everything smells clean. He notices a wooden door open and voices whispering. He is brought inside and laid down. As he is placed on a broken couch and several figures crowd over him, he starts to fade and slip back into darkness.

Again his eyes open, only so much as to catch a quick glimpse of the concrete and pavement, he is being carried again. He notices the same two feet stopping at a very familiar door. It has the gray-green light of his building coming from it. He notices that he is at the front door to his building. He is being carried home. Home. His mind begins to race and he realizes he does not want to go there. He does not want to go anywhere near there. Anywhere, he wants to go anywhere but there. The boy struggles to get free but the arms hold him tight, hold him closer, and as he gasps a few times he over exerts himself and quickly fades away.

Part 3

Jason walked slowly along the cracks in the sidewalk, trying to avoid falling off his imaginary balance beam. He stepped carefully as his imagination got the better of him and could almost see himself tumbling off the sidewalk through the concrete and into nothing if he failed to keep his balance. Despite his feet firmly placed on the ground and one in front of the other he still teetered to the sides and waved his arms around wildly to maintain his balance. However, his path along the cracks brought him into the oncoming traffic of people.

It was a busy Saturday afternoon in Central Park. Jason had arrived around ten and decided to spend the most of his day there. A single eight-year-old in the park with so many people around was not unusual, parents left their children unattended all the time and it was reasonably safe. But he was in the park and he was there to avoid his home. He avoided his home pretty much every day, but the park was a good place to stay and be out in the open. He had brought his lunch and had eaten it early on, he didn't have any breakfast, he just grabbed whatever he could find lying around, some candy, a few crackers, and a juice box that was meant for his school lunch, but obviously he had other plans for it.

Jason enjoyed the park and all of the surroundings, but mostly the people. There were the families walking around, the roller skaters, runners, people sun-tanning, more runners, more skaters, chess players, street performers, and the trumpet player. The lonely trumpet player who sat in the same spot each time Jason came to the park. Every day the man was there honking, tooting, squeezing, fingering and blowing out note after note, sometimes softly and melodic as if he was playing background music to the soundtrack of all those who walked by. At other times he would produce the giant sound of a big band with his lungs and feet. Even though it was only a lonely trumpet player, somewhere maybe inside him or all around there was a big band playing with him and every time he was giving the concert of his life. Jason would watch from a distance. He would either sit in the open park or hide underneath a tree and watch the old man tap his foot and fumble about on the keys. Though the old man was alone, Jason could tell that the old man was always happy to be outside playing. Crowds would gather and he wouldn't be alone and even as people passed by, the trumpet player would still have everyone's attention subconsciously.

Jason wandered around poking his head into people's lives, either from a distance watching them or by nosing around picnic blanket and personal items that they left out. After a while he gave up and carried his already sweaty feet and busted shoes to a small grassy area by the marble rotund where people hung out and skated, smoked, drank coffee and were offered drugs. He sat on his grassy knoll and played with the grass, the small fibers that were fraying off of his shorts, and the scars he had from other times when he was playing.

Part 4

After reaching his favorite place in the park, the playground, he noticed that it was unusually empty. Being a Saturday and always filled with children, Jason noticed that there was no one there. This was new to him, he had always had to share with the others but though he was outgrowing the playground, he knew that this was a good time to grab at this opportunity. He walked, then jogged and burst into a run to get to the slide before this moment of perfection was lost. He raced up the log steps, grabbing the metal poles and throwing his body from rung to rung, sliding down slides, swinging across the rings and ducking behind plastic walls. Jason was panting when he came to a rest on top of the jungle gym. He had a commanding view of the entire playground and some of the park. He sat and enjoyed his fortune. The trumpet player was audible from where he was, and a small smile crossed his face as he pictured the old man tapping his toes and fingering the keys.

One last slide down and his day would be complete. Jason plunged head first down the metal tube smiling and pushing faster. He landed with a thump in the sand at the exit of the slide. He lay on his stomach for a second as he tried to catch his breath he had the wind knocked out of him as he landed. He peered ahead of him and found two brown shoes and two legs standing directly in front of him. He bent his head upwards and he met two eyes staring back down at him. He realized that a girl his age was staring back at him and obviously grinning at the fact that he had just almost knocked himself out. She bent down and lightly touched him on his head. Then she was off, running up the stairs away from him and towards the top perch of the jungle gym. He scrambled up and tripped over his own feet, and stumbled forward catching himself. He found his balance and then began running after her. She was already gone, disappeared into the maze of the jungle gym. He raced around, stopping, peering, glancing, and looking in every crack and crevice.

After a minute of solid looking and nothing to show for it he climbed to the top of the gym. Upon reaching the top he saw her standing at the bottom, exiting the slide. Staring back up at him. Jason looked down and saw that she was waving. She was waving and took off for the best part of the park, a giant maze made of hedges. He was down the slide and running after her, the last he saw was the end of her dress disappearing into the maze. Though he had been through the maze many times before he found that she had as well. He never came upon her, she avoided all the dead ends. He slowed his pace as he heard footsteps. He stopped at the corner and waited. He crouched next to the edge and prepared to jump on the approaching victim. Though he pounced true and well he wound up attacking an older women of about 25 who was jogging through the maze. As he untangled himself from the women's legs and realized his error, he felt a tap on the head. The little girl had doubled back on him. He had been tagged twice and he was quite certain that she was impossible to catch. As he ran after her, his shoes were beginning to slip from his feet. The backs being broken and the laces tied loosely did not make well for his chase. He stumbled and landed face first, again in the grass. He did not even bother to watch where she ran off to, he was tired and even a little sore. The older woman who he had pounced on came over to him, picked him up and dusted him off. He was quite embarrassed as she helped him collect his shoes, which had managed to wind up in the bushes from his fall. He apologized to her, but with his face looking at the ground. She told him it was ok and began running off. He carried himself through the maze and wandered to the center, which was bathed in sunlight. The center of the maze was actually a grassy hill, which looked out over the maze and he collapsed there and shut his eyes. The sun was bright and he felt it turn his eyelids warm.

He heard something land on the ground next to him and he slowly opened his eyes to brown hair and bright eyes staring back at him once again. She was smiling a big smile. Jason made no attempt to tag her or even grab at her, she flipped over on her back and he lay there as she laughed at him. He pulled some blades of grass and threw them up over his head and they fell down on them, she did the same and they sat on the hill, in the sun, on the grass, and they laughed.