DangerMouse

Last night, I was in the basement rolling a jables when I hear a plastic dragging on cement sound.

I looked to my right and there was a mouse with a portion of its body trapped inside a plastic spiked snap-trap.

It was not dead. It didn't seem all that upset either.

The mouse didn't move when it saw me looking at it.

It did not move when I took three steps to the left to grab the iron pipe laying by my toolbox.

The iron pipe - I don't know why I have it, what purpose it was meant to play...

maybe an old science project about a forge and melting aluminum.

When it saw me again, this time with the pipe, it screamed.

It did.

It screamed three times until I thunked it much harder than required.

I dented the grey puzzlemat floor piece it was on, to the right of the furnace, flame showing from below

With a shop rag and some cleaner, I cleaned up the scene.

In the horror movie that mice live in, I was the big bad.

I was Jason I was Freddy I was the guy with the needles in his face.

It didn't feel good or right, just necessary.

My dad died two weeks ago.