A Mouse of Epic Proportions: Tipsy Lit Prompted

I hope you enjoy my short story for TipsyLit’s newest prompt, Holding Back

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*****

A Mouse of Epic Proportions

“Do you hear that scratching sound?” I asked.

He grunted softly, refusing to even open his eyes. “Yeah. It’s nothing.”

“It’s that mouse, again. I saw it this morning.” She rolled onto her side, leaning to peer over the edge of the bed.

When he didn’t say anything, she rolled back over. “Hey…Can you just get it?

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he said.

“I can’t sleep with that sound. I don’t want a mouse in here,” she complained.

His body shifted, pulling the cover along with him as he rolled away from her. The broad expanse of his back bare for her to see, as he spoke half into his pillow, “It’s like midnight thirty. Just go to sleep.”

“Why can’t you just get the damn mouse?” She bit out, pushing up onto her elbows.

“Christ, woman. I’m sleeping.”

She was fully up then, sitting high in the bed. Her fingers clasped around his shoulder, pulling him over onto his back. “Get the fucking mouse.”

“I’ll get traps tomorrow. Now shut up and sleep,” he said.

“Oh sure. When I was pregnant you got up to get me Poptarts from the store at 3 am, but I can’t get you up now to get a damn mouse,” she mumbled, pulling her fingers through the long tangles of her hair.

“It’s probably not even a mouse,” he said.

“You’d just get up and go. Anytime I asked for something. You wanted to do things for me,” she continued.

“It’s probably just the damn cat, under the bed in one of those boxes it likes to sleep in.”

“But now, now I can’t even get you to catch a mouse. Now you don’t even pay attention to me,” she fired off. Frustrated, she yanked her hair back into a messy ponytail, while he rolled back over to show her his back.

“I’ll get the fucking mouse tomorrow.”

“You don’t even kiss me right anymore. You know? Like we used to? You don’t even kiss me right when we fuck. You barely do it,” she was rambling now, her voice an explosion of small missiles.  She kicked the covers off her legs. She needed to get up, to move.

“I’ll get the traps in the morning!”

She crawled out of the bed, snapping the light on and kicking the box. The sound of skittering feet across the hardwood floor set her teeth on edge.

“You can’t even get up to help me get a mouse!” She screamed at him.

He sat up then, eyes open and bloodshot, his hair a long tangled mess.

“You aren’t pregnant anymore.”

With that she turned and opened the door. It squeaked on its hinges. Hot tears filled her eyes, bubbled over, swam down her cheeks.

He flopped back against the pillow, yanking the blanket up over his chest. “Where the hell are you going?” He asked.

“I’ve got traps under the kitchen sink…I’m going to catch a mouse.”

*****

Herstory Lesson: Don’t let the big things build up inside you. They explode out at the most inopportune of times. 

Word Count: 491

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59 thoughts on “A Mouse of Epic Proportions: Tipsy Lit Prompted

    1. The idea was all about miscommunication, emotions pent-up…the mouse was just the thing she chose to go off on instead of saying, “Hey, you aren’t paying enough attention to me lately.”

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    2. Sheesh! Some of you men are so dense – this wasn’t about mice.And you fell right into the trap and asked about mice. I can’t believe it, EG! And I thought you were so clued-in – man you lost points that time. And you even had to get her to tell you it wasn’t about mice – you couldn’t figure it out. I am ashamed for men – how could you have missed that it was about her feelings? And you did so well with the poptart/pregnant thing. Did you think that was an anamoly? That was only the beginning. 3 am and she’s gonna talk about mice? I think not! It’s gotta be about her feelings, man! Have you considered remedial empathy classes? You’re in the doghouse now.

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      1. Ha! Throw some carpeting in and the doghouse is a pretty comfortable room.

        No, I caught the point of their conversation. My comment goes exactly to that – that he isn’t listening.
        I’m also wondering why she chose 3am to pick that particular fight.

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        1. Tennyson said it best:

          “Theirs not to make reply,
          Theirs not to reason why,
          Theirs but to do and die:
          Into the valley of Death
            Rode the six hundred.”

          Your only hope now is to martyr yourself EG. It’s too late for a poptart.

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            1. Ha! I tend to agree (blueberry is the best!) Just think how the history of literature would have changed had there been poptarts when Tennyson wrote “The Charge of the Light Brigade” : Look lads, that’s for sure a Valley of Death. Let’s just sit down here neighbourly like and have a blueberry poptart with icing and think about this for a minute before we go charging in there. Are y’all with me?

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                  1. Hahahaha! Like that piece if male logic? We have got to be the most frustrating challenge that God made for the female of the species. And lovin’ it.

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  1. I feel like such a miserable moo, but I had assumed something had gone wrong with the pregnancy. Sorry to write such sad thoughts on a Friday night. On a happier note, thrilled to have found this blog.

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