Fiction, Writing|

The mouse ran up the hill, and dipped into the dark pool of water found there. He swam, slowly at first, as though he were afraid. As he swam, his speed increased and he was soon in the middle of the dark water, almost far enough out that he lost sight of the shore.


He stopped. He let the water take him. It was over.

A mile away, though it could have been a world away for all the mice knew, a young puppy was rolling around in the sun. His fur bristled with morning dew while he brayed, filling the meadow with sound.

He ate the tip of a sunflower, gnawing it slowly and staining his jowls a mix of green and yellow. The pup lurched left, and swayed to the right, before falling over, barking and shaking its head, ears flapping in the grass.

“C’mon boy, let’s go home!” The pup popped back up, mouth hanging open in a huge grin. Green-and-yellow tongue lolling out of its mouth, it rushed to its master, happier than ever.

I saw these, as I see all things. Another day passes before, as I stare into the glass orb, recording the events of the world. Who’s to say what matters? Who’s to say what doesn’t?

Who’s to say what’s said?

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