In the ashen wheat, there was
a mouse.
He heard it,
scavenging
scrounging
eating
cleaning
freezing when it heard him.
The mouse,
the louse,
the vermin,
It had to be
A Big One
Big enough to worry that it couldn't get away on its stubby legs
carrying its fat rat body.
On a worn grey rock, there sat
the mouse.
Plump as pricked ears predicted,
Beady eyes watching for slits in the haze,
paws in the dirt
the wiggle of death.
He waited until it was calm before giving chase
Waited for split second stasis before crushing it underclaw,
snapping its neck in one blow
But he played with it anyway.
Can't be too sure.
Insects survived worse if one wasn't thorough.
Humans too, stubborn as they are.
Stubborn like good cats.
In the dry earth,
a mouse's body lay,
A trio of bloodspots marking its end.
He chomped on the head,
ripping
tearing
chewing
swallowing
freezing when he heard a mote of movement.
He secured his catch and growled a warning
Ready to fight, but didn't have to, as the intruder stepped away.
Then again, if his lunch was to be fraught with interruption,
perhaps he should depart.
He turned,
then leapt,
landing on a nearby fence.
He turned again,
mouse in maw,
wood pocked with claw,
amber eyes settled on
A human's pair of onyx.
They stared at each other, and he was tempted to let his gaze swirl,
To enthrall the human and force it to
state
its
business.
No, not it.
He sat now, tail hanging and swinging.
Not it.
Her.
A woman
standing on the other side of the ashen wheat,
sharing a look of shock.
Petite woman,
skin like Canela's Bark
hair in tight coils as dark as the eyes.
He curled his lip at her, then completed his trip over the fence.
Food first, strangers later.
YOU ARE READING
A Mouser in the Hearth
FanfictionJohn's lunch takes an unexpected detour. (THE FAB YEARS) WARNING: language, fantasy violence, gore, occult themes & imagery Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, their songs, their covers, or the solo work of its members. Nor do I think of them as...
