By P.

Shallcross

Death of a Mouse
The harvest mouse rushed down the little path it had made in the dirt which ran
through the oat field, its stomach finally content from hunger. As it ran it slipped
on a pebble it had not seen in the darkness. A moment of surprised pain came
over it, causing it to stop.
It glanced at its hurt paw and licked it to see if it had drawn blood. It had not. The
mouse stared up at the cloudy sky that veiled the moon and cursed the
blackness. As it cast its eyes skyward, as if by heaven itself, the clouds parted
slightly so a sharp shard of light fell onto the land some way away. The mouse
would not have usually paid the light any heed but, as the light fell the little
mouse saw something that, in spite of the gentle warmth of the midsummers
evening made its blood run cold. The silhouette of a hunting owl.
The mouse ran. It bolted along its dirt path towards the hedgerow where it had
made its home. It heard the sound of feathers on the wind and a loud owl scream
and realised the owl had seen it. Again it cursed but this time it cursed itself for
bolting so quickly. Adrenalin filled its veins like never before as it pelted down the
path.
It slipped twice but recovered well. The mouse knew that that last trip had
caused one of its paws to bleed but the mouse didnt care anymore. It was
almost home now where it would be safe within the hedges bramble. Suddenly it
heard another scream directly above it and realised the owl was upon it.
A moment later the mouse felt itself being driven into the earth as the owl
descended upon it. The owls talons dug deep into its stomach flesh and the
mouse winced in agony. The landed owl picked it up in its claw and brought it up
so that they looked face to face at each other.
It was a barn owl.
Its deep black eyes slowly studied the red tinged brown fur of its victim. As it did
so the mouse felt strangely compelled to do the same, looking over the deep
brown feathers of the owl. At last their eyes met, both natural enemies staring
into each other.
Pain boiled up in the mouse, forcing it to spasm violently. But even then it
refused to fail its eyes from the owls gaze. Though God had not seen it fit to
bless this creature with the gift of speech the owl understood the mouses
actions.
Do it. I dare you.
For a moment the owl cast its eyes down which they both took to be a sign of
respect for the other. That this act was only happening because it was the

natural order of things. Because it was the will of a higher form than either of
them would ever comprehend.
The owl looked back and struck.