The mouse was dead. The deserted driveway was its deathbed. How did it end up there, no one knew. Somewhere in the distance an owl scolded its offspring for wasting a kill. The owlet hung its head in shame. He had hoped that the mouse would rush back to its family when he let him slip away from his talons.
All the rants and raves from a brain that has endured decades of anthropological abuse.
Comments
Post a Comment