I am smart, usually. I take only calculated risks, usually. Those two factors are responsible for my having exceeded our scientifically determined lifespan by fifty per cent.
‘One day begins a story,’ one of our elders would often say. One day—one night, more appropriately—my story began. One minute I was heading home; the next I was battling to stay alive.
I was going about my business with nary a care in the world, when my sensitive nose was assaulted by varied and appetite-awakening aromas. While I was contemplating investigating, light suddenly flooded everywhere and temporarily disoriented me. I reacted quickly even as my eyes adjusted. I moved, angling to escape without any confrontation. But that was not to be. The mountain of a man who had turned on the light saw me.
A look at his face showed his intention. I made a dash for haven, Gulliver blocked my path. I changed gears and direction, he followed suit. I took an alternate route that had provided escape many times before; he was there before I was done manoeuvring. Not only was he fast, it was as if he could preempt my moves. All the while, he kept stamping and throwing his feet. Perhaps to indicate he meant business. I had no doubt about that.
Getting desperate, I decided on a brazen approach. Whilst daring, it was often effective. I took off at a quick run. Halfway, I switched tracks and ran diagonally across the floor. Safety lay just beyond the light.
The tactic depended on speed of execution, the element of surprise and a latent slowness of response common to Giant's kind. The first two were on point, the last did not go according to plan.
A foot came flying down. It made contact with my neck. My last conscious thoughts were the words of the coach at the Rodent Survival Program: ‘If you want to live, stay in the shadows; Never Run Towards The Light.’ Then the darkness took over.
© JC 2017
Post a Comment