Work Text:
On Friday at dusk I step on a bird.
It’s not a living bird; I think it must have been here for a while, because it feels dry under my shoe. Of course, it's hot being under the sun all day. It makes a crunching sound as I lift my foot.
On Saturday as I’m laying in bed I hear the high-pitched squeaking of mice in the dark. I make some noise, rustling my bedsheets and getting up to walk around a little. I turn on a light, and then go back to bed.
The noises stop. I get up again to turn off the light: click. It’s quiet for a while, and all I can hear is my fan rotating on its axis and the airflow. Like relentless wind through leaves. Like my mother's breath through her teeth: shhhh. Be quiet. My name silently appended.
The squeaking returns, but I go back to sleep.
On Sunday morning I find three mice stuck on the same trap, still writhing, in the room next to mine.