Richard Deadman 591 Words

43 Arlington Ave, Apt. #1

Ottawa, Ontario, K2P 1C1

(613) 231-3150

A small brown eye peers up wide and hard. Around, around, around. Thrashing, beating, two legs running hard. Two left legs. Cold, shiny metal underneath. Running, running, around and around. The tail thrashes, the feet run, the eye stares. Cold, hard, afraid.

"He's paralysed." The girl looks down into the sink. "The trap must've paralysed half of him."

"I know that." Charlie peers over the counter edge and down into the basin.

"We'll have to put him out of his misery. Don't want Mom to come home and find him."

"You do it." The boy frowns, pulls back one corner of his mouth and saunters into the other room, hands jammed into his pockets.

"Mom's really not up to this right now. Come, on Charlie, help me flush him down the toilet." She follows him into the other room and stands over him. "There's still a lot to do around here before Mom comes back. I have to finish vacuuming and you have to clean the washroom." Sometimes he just wants to hit her, like Dad hits Mom. Charlie picks up his G.I. Joe doll and stares at it intently.

She storms out of the room, looking almost like a nine year old girl. A minute later she's back. "Charlie!" she wails. Frustration.

He looks up from his G.I. Joe and grunts. Charlie do this, Charlie do that, is all she ever says. Why isn't Mom here to look after this. He looks at his sister hard. "Awful cruel."

"What?"

"Pretty Cruel. Drowning." He sees himself held underwater. Unable to breath. Trapped. Fighting for air, his two legs thrashing.

"No more cruel than letting it run around in circles in pain."

"You do it. I don't care." He picks the doll up again. The sun shines in through the window, across their suitcases and lands at his feet. He's the only one who has unpacked anything. His G.I. Joe. He grabs the doll by the feet and starts rapping its head on the edge of the coffee table. Slowly, almost casually. He bits his lower lip.

"I hate it here" he says. "Why'd we have to leave?" She sighs and marches out of the room again. He can hear her in the bathroom starting to wash out the tub. G.I. Joe's head taps rhythmically on the table edge.

A few minutes later, she's back. He tries to ignore her and starts hitting the table harder. "The car's in the driveway. Come on, Charlie, help me get rid of it." He wants to hit her, get rid of her.

When she pulls on his arm, he gets up, shrugging her off. He goes into the kitchen and peers over into the sink. The eye is a little dimmer now, less hard, but the two feet are still thrashing, fighting hard. He picks up the mouse quickly by the tail and starts to walk towards the bathroom.

"Not now. I just cleaned in there." She stands in the bathroom door.

"It's only the toilet."

"You were the one who said it was cruel."

"What then?" He exhales hard. The mouse twitches and squirms in mid air.

"Use the shovel out back."

He goes out back and places the mouse on a flagstone. It twitches and thrashes, its two left legs pushing hard against the stone. Slowly it begins to turn around. He picks up the shovel and looks at the mouse. A small brown eye peers up wide and hard. Afraid. He closes his eyes and raises the shovel.