At the Sweet and Tart Cafe a waitress accidentally stepped on a little white mouse beside our table. The mouse had the most horrible expression on its face. In slow convulsions it tried to will itself back to life— a life insignificant by our standards.

 

Steven wanted to leave because he couldn’t stomach the idea of mice running around the café. I wanted to leave because I couldn’t stomach the mouse’s expression as it lay there with its last measure of strength trying to will itself back to life, clinging on desperately.

 

‘The passion of all living things to live,’ I thought.

 

A waiter walked over with a broom and dust pan and swept the mouse away.



For More Pieces Like This  

 

   

Donating = Sustaining

It is a pleasure bringing you writings and other media through FWIW, but the site takes * a lot * of time and money to run (curate, write for, illustrate, code, share, etc). Keeping it going and completely Ad Free depends on the generous support of engaged readers like yourself... If you derive any joy and value here, please consider becoming a supporting regular, with a modest recurring monthly donation of your choice, between a cup of tea and a dinner.

Or you can make a One-time or Recurring donation in Any Amount of your choice:

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , ,


Leave a Reply

Captcha *