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Passion of the Mouse http://mbioblog.asm.org/mbiosphere/2013/04/

Passion of the Mouse

Is mercy for animals depends upon size of their body? Usually people make lot of hue and cry against killing animals, but there is lot of poison available in the market to kill such small creatures. Don’t you think such small creatures too deserve some me

saving...
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I was a mouse. Now, I am just a rotting corpse. I did not die. I was murdered.

But my essence still lingers within. I have no soul, as we all well know, only Human Beings have the right to own a soul. And since God is Man's fanciful creation, as He exists to comfort Man in times of urgency and to be praised by him, in times of great merriment.

My essence will remain, on this dung heap under the rolling sky, long after my bones and flesh have withered and their putrid smell forgotten.

No God shall resurrect me. No gods shall reincarnate me. No Heaven or Hell awaits me.

I am but a mouse.

And who can understand my pain?

And my sole crime,

was to be a mouse;

And yet I was so small and so young. I had hardly tasted life, before I tasted...

Man's poison.

I was but one of many young of my mother. I was so little, one hardly noticed me. I scarcely remember my mother, and she scarcely knew me.

My life was very quiet and lonely. But I was always discreet. And I never got in the way of anyone. I only went out when the sky was pitch-black.

I was always humble. I never wanted more than a few scraps lying on the floor. That was sufficient nourishment for me.

And when Man is annoyed with another of his kind, He calls him: “You Dirty Rat”.

But you, who can understand my essence's language, which now lies embedded in the air and the trees, know well.

I am, pardon me, I was neither dirty nor a rat. I once heard that in a shopping center, a black rat measuring a foot from nose to tail had been killed. I am so small, my teeth are so blunt. How can I be a rat? But of course, I can be called a rat.

And I am not unclean. I bear no fleas. For those among you, who believe in reincarnation, I may have been the spirit of a humble little man in the body of a humble little mouse.

The latter now rots and the former has scattered to the four winds.

Soon, none shall remain of me.

And none shall care.

I was but a mouse.

And I was so small.

And so young,

And now I am gone.

Last night, I was scurrying along the floor of the basement of a house. I was very weak, I hadn't eaten for so many days. When I had last eaten, some crumb on the floor, I felt so drained. It was as if something was seeping through my innards burning everything within me. My nose started to bleed. I was so weak. I could hardly move. So weak. So alone. Help.

I crawled to one corner of the floor. The entire floor was soft and white. Like mist or snow, that I had seen. Where? - In my dreams.

Of course, Man can never imagine a Mouse dreaming. So you know indeed that it is my essence which speaks to you, and that I do not lie.

Only Man lies.

The white mist was so soft. I just lay there, in my agony, hoping, it would stop.

* * * * *

I don't know if hours passed or minutes. Time had lost value for me. The life of a mouse is so short, so I never bothered with time.

I heard a woman's startled shriek. Then heavy footsteps fading away.

A little or much later, I don't know and it hardly matters now, a boy came in and looked at me. I still couldn't move. I was so scared, lying amongst drops of my own blood, amongst white sheets, in a place that didn't belong to me, which didn't welcome me nor wanted me. Did man's God create the Earth but for him?

I couldn't pray. Mice can't pray. So I wonder, does then the Lord God disregard them?

The boy threw something hard and metallic at me. I crawled forward. I didn't want to die.

I never wanted to die. Although, Death is inevitable, and eternal and perhaps the only comforting friend, because so softly and kindly, she erases all pain, all worries, all problems. All cases closed. All files closed. The end of existence. Just a profound, dreamless sleep. So deep, and so sound. Unbreakable.

Death is the Solution to all Problems,

No Mouse, No Problem.

The boy seemed to come and go. I crawled painfully behind a stack of cushions. To me, they seemed a mountain. They would hide me. Please, why do I have to die?

It was my tail! I didn't realize that my tail was jutting out.

My own body; my only material possession, doomed me; betrayed me; murdered me.

The boy ran his blade over my tail. I hadn't seen him with a blade before. My tail hurt and I pulled it in, and crawled further, into a corner. I could go no further. My body was hurting. I meant no harm. I only saw that beautiful white sheet and thought of resting my ailing body, before giving myself up.

The boy now pushed away the cushions to reveal me: helpless and alone.

He was wearing sport shoes. I hoped he'd be quick. He wasn't. He held me down under the jagged sole of his shoe. But I had no intention of running away, nor could I, in my weak, emaciated state.

He was bringing the shoe-sole down harder and harder upon my back. I cried out, but to him sounded as but a tiny squeak. I heard my bones crack like dry twigs. He must've heard them splinter and break as well. What he didn't hear, nor will he ever know is that these cracked, splintered bones pierced every vital organ in my body, so I could suffer for a full twenty seconds before I died.

Ah! and what of the blade? He stabbed me several times in the head, neck and abdomen with it. But I was nearly dead, so it wasn't really necessary.

Finally, I was dead but still an eyesore. The boy wrapped me in old newspaper, as to touch me is polluting. He threw me in an open field, atop a garbage heap, as he was good-hearted, and hoped that the crows might breakfast on my poisoned, butchered flesh.

He even washed his blade in a mud puddle, as he didn't wish to pollute his home's tap water with the blood of a mouse: the blood of an innocent. But again, after washing it, his mother still insisted the blade would never be clean, so he threw it away.

Thus came to an end my existence.

But the crows never touched me, nor did the ants or the flies. For I am not a dead body but a murdered one. And the Law of Nature forbids to them the flesh of one murdered as food.

And here lie I until the Earth shall take me as Her own and the winds and trees raise my essence into the harmony of their song.

I came to know after I died that my last living moments were in the basement of a house, which was being prepared to honor a God-Man or Man-God and that I was thus unwelcome as the God-Man's men followers would find a Mouse's presence amongst them sacrilegious. The punishment for my crime was death.

I can't believe that this God would permit the murder of His most humble creation.

Though I don't believe that he created me, nor is he my God, but it matters little now what I believe.

Is Man a God or God a Man ?

Is Man a Mouse or Mouse a Man?

Is God a Mouse or Mouse a God?

When your essence mingles with mine,

When together, as equals and friends,

We sing the song of the Universe,

Which you can always hear,

In the silence of your heart,

If only you tried,

You would know,

The Truth.


Contributed By Shauna Rae

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