Labyrinth

Blog Entries, Stories

Pisky Pisky was bitter. He couldn’t see a bigger picture to life. He was just a mouse, and all he did was chase after cheese. It took a while to find it, through twisting, turning alleyways, but it was satisfying in the end. He liked cheese.

Pisky Pisky (or just ‘Pisky’ for short) sort of knew that there was more to life than the labyrinth, but it was an abstract idea, a vague concept that only got fuzzier with repetition. The Maze was life. Every day, there was cheese to chase. Pisky wasn’t the best cheese seeker, but he did try. His nose was good, but he had trouble following the path to the cheese. He kept lunging headfirst into stone walls, unyielding. It was very frustrating. He could smell cheese behind this wall, right around that corner. But always, he was stopped short by a wall. It seemed like his only option was to totally and utterly ignore his instincts. He had to let go of the urge to claw through the wall (it never worked), and go back the way he came, though it was farther from his goal. Perhaps there would be another path.

As the scent of cheese grew fainter, Pisky was struck with a feeling of deep sadness and fear. His fear was the fear of losing the scent. And the sadness was a deep hopelessness. Cheese always seemed within his grasp, yet there was an insurmountable obstacle in his way every time.

Pisky was very hungry, but he began to take a certain pride in the pain he endured. The cheese was clearly unattainable, and he wouldn’t be the fool to claw at the walls when there was no hope. He developed a bitter pity for himself. He hadn’t asked for this life, he reminded himself, as the little mousy tears gathered in his eyes.

He was very weak. With his waning strength he dragged himself to as distant a corner of the Maze he knew of and collapsed in a sobbing bundle of fur and bones. The smell of cheese was so far away it was almost a memory, but the gaping hole in his stomach was real and bottomless. But Pisky ignored it. He was numb to it now. He didn’t even want cheese anymore — who even did? — and his vengeful tears were free-flowing. It was the unfairness of it all, the injustice! Someone was responsible. Someone had caused this to happen. If only he know who was to blame, Pisky hoped they felt guilty. And with this last triumphant thought, this bittersweet moment of shallow victory within his defeat, the mouse called Pisky Pisky died.

 


(Written in response to this daily prompt: Someday )

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