 |  |
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
Listeners' Fantasies |
 |
|
|
|
 |
|
Mousie's Tale
By Vicky S
 An unusual point of view from the Fantasy Archers topic of
Long after Ruairi had fallen asleep and loosed his grip on Mousie's label so that Mousie could at last slide into a more comfortable position on the pillow, Mousie lay and stared thoughtfully into the darkness with his bright unblinking eyes.
Part of the problem, thought Mousie, was that he was still finding it hard to distinguish actual words that people were saying. Ruairi's voice was no problem of course, Mousie recognised every word Ruairi said. It was Ruairi of course who had taught Mousie to understand English in the first place.
Mummie's voice too had soon become familiar, Mousie had learned quite quickly that "Oh, dear, I see silly old Mousie has fallen out of the buggy again, let Mummie just give him a little wipe Ruairi, just to get any nasty germs off him" meant a shivery scrub with a damp and stinging cloth which made Mousie smell funny for days and days afterwards. Other things Mummie had said still puzzled him, "Oh Mousie, whatever would Ruairi do if we ever we lost you, it would break his little heart." Whatever did that mean? Mousie was Ruairi's Mousie, how could he ever be lost? Ruairi would always know where to find him again.
It was that same sharply bothersome smell, Mousie suddenly realised, that had surrounded them for the last few weeks, although no one had wiped him with anything for ages and he smelt very comfortably of his own Mousie smell, mingled pleasantly with Ruairi's smell. In fact, he realised, the funny smell came more from Mummie, rather than Mousie. Perhaps Mummie had fallen out of the buggy and got nasty germs.
Many things had been strange recently. Lots of new voices that Mousie couldn't quite understand. One voice was called Grannie, whose words came tumbling out in a rush so fast that they hurt Mousie's ears and made it hard for him to catch more than a word or two:
puirweeboi - that was Ruairi
grubbycreatureoffofmytable - that was Grannie's special name for Mousie himself
and arroganteejit - that, Mousie knew, meant Daddie.
Daddie. Mousie didn't like thinking about Daddie. Daddie always held him too hard so that his fur felt squashed. Daddie was mean; he would stuff him into Ruairi's back pack just any old way, head first, tail crushed, heavy books put on top of him, not like Mummie: "I'm going to put Mousie in his special pocket and zip up the zip so he feels nice and warm and safe." No, Mousie knew that Daddie didn't really like Mousie very much. Look at the way that Daddie was always trying to make Ruairi play with new friends. Wherever they went Daddie would say, "Wait 'til we get home Ruairi, Daddie's got a surprise for you". Luckily so far the new friends were lined up doleful and alone on the Other bed. But there was always the chance that one day Daddie would find a new friend who would make Ruairi forget about Mousie, and if that happened... if Mousie ended up lined up on the Other bed... But worst of all, Daddie didn't know what to do. When Ruairi was hurt Daddie didn't know about kissing better, when Ruairi was sad Daddie didn't know about special cuddles and songs, when Ruairi wanted to play with Mousie, Daddie was always swooping down on them and picking Ruairi up so fast that sometimes Mousie got dropped. "Oh leave that old Mousie," he would say " Who wants to play with old Mousie eh? Not me and my boy! Come and play with Daddie instead, let's go and see if the ice cream van's in the park."
And the other day when Ruairi was at the party running around, having secret sniffs of people's drinks and eating crisps and having just one bite out of sandwiches and not finishing what was on his plate and then feeling sick Daddie didn't know what to do then either. And Mummie wasn't there to sort it out. A new voice called Lizzie had tried, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't right.
Something was wrong. Mousie knew it. It was something to do with Daddie and Mummie and it was a bad thing. And Mousie didn't know what to do about it. He was a toy mouse, for heaven's sake. How could he help Ruairi against Daddie.
Mousie slipped further down the pillow until he was just under Ruairi's nose and he could feel the warm dampness of each slow breath along his tail.
The door opened suddenly. Mousie lay still. It was Daddie.
"Oh. Ruairi, Ruairi, you're all I have left of my darling." Daddie's whispered voice sent shivers along Mousie's whiskers. "I'll never let you go Ruairi, never, I'll always be there, I give you my word. I promise I'll keep you safe and make sure nothing ever happens to you. You're my boy, Ruairi, and I'm all you'll ever need. For god's sake, this bloody thing again, it's nearly suffocating him, the child can hardly breathe."
No. thought Mousie. No. But it was too late.
"Filthy stinking rodent needs a wash anyway," he heard Daddie say. "Covered in germs and heaven knows what. I think Mousie 2 will definitely make an entrance as soon as we get back home. Just for a week or two, 'til you've settled in properly Ruairi. And I promise, you, me and Jenny, we'll have such great times together you'll soon forget stinky old Mousie. Just you wait and see."
The door closed. Ruairi stirred uneasily and turned over in his sleep. Mousie lay awkwardly on the Other bed next to the new friends.
In the streetlight shining through the curtains onto the Other bed his eyes shone so brightly they looked like dark tears.
More
Archers fantasies
<<Back
|
|
 | |  |
|
|
|
 |
|
