One Mouse Fell Away

Gary rose early, slipped out of bed quietly, and got dressed for the cold dawn. He made sure not to wake Clara and quietly made his way downstairs. Without knowing where his feet were taking him, he found himself exiting the house and crossing to his father’s old barn.

In the faint light of the coming dawn, Gary could see the paint peeling away at the edges of every board with finality, red giving way to dull grey. It was not as it appeared in his memories. In entering, he found that instead of the comfort it usually gave him, the barn left him feeling empty and lonely, feelings which matched the barns physical characteristics. When he was younger, and his father had been in charge of the farm, the barn had been a source of life. Horses lined the stalls and bales of straw could come in from the elevator in the back. Gary enjoyed countless memories of summers long past; countless days of hard work and countless afternoons of cool lemonade with his mother and father.

His hand, outstretched, traced the etchings of names in the walls of the horse stalls, now empty and desolate. As his fingers felt out one particular name, they recoiled in sorrow. Gary turned away and set his jaw against tears which welled up from within. The name was as dead as the barn itself. What had once been a living and breathing center of his life was now gone, an empty shell now given over moreso to mice and grass snakes than to livestock and vitality.

Cobwebs now dominated the majority of the barn, and had done so ever since the farm was shut down. Gary walked to the end, as rotting straw fell away at his boots. In the back, he took the ladder up to the loft, where he had often gone to think about things as a boy. Settling himself, he took notice of miniature life scampering about the floor. Mice.

Gary watched them for a time, zigzagging their way across the ground like an army battalion. He could imagine them shouting out “no man left behind, forward ranks, c’mon boys, it’s just over this next rise,” and then the trump tromp of their mousy boots, more like a tip tap.

But One Mouse was left behind. It lingered behind as a barn owl suddenly swept low, and clutched up the mouse with a throaty hoot. No mouse rushed to his comrade’s defense. No mouse lifted arms to liberate the One Mouse. And that mouse’s last vision would forever be his friends running away as he was taken out of life, leaving him behind to die alone at the hands of his attacker. It didn’t even have the chance to shriek.

And Gary broke down in tears.