City Mouse (177 Words)
“I don’t like it,” said Nibbles. “It looks like a snake.”
“Oh, come on!” Flip raced towards the escalator, his whiskers trembling with excitement. “Everyone does it. Look at that woman. And she only has two legs to her, too. I don’t know how the human-folk balance.”
“They’re very big,” said Nibbles. “And we’re very small.”
Flip wasn’t paying attention. He had glimpsed the bald man with the roller bag.
“There they go!” he gasped. “Come on, mate, or we’ll lose ’em forever!”
He was already springing towards the escalator steps. Nibbles followed him without knowing what else to do. The screams of startled commuters made the little mice run faster, dodging high heels and boots.
“There he goes!” said Flip.
“Oh no.” Nibbles covered his face. “We’re not going on a train.”
“We’ll never make it on a train.” Flip’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll just have to climb on top.”
There was no time to argue. But Nibbles promised himself fervently that when this adventure was through, he was never, never going to visit the city again.
***
Written in response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner‘s photo prompt. Check it out!
WALLIE'S WENTLETRAP 