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Author Topic: The hunt  (Read 98 times)

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Offline Masked InsanityTopic starter

The hunt
« on: May 12, 2020, 02:09:43 AM »
Hey all - i tried my hand at a micro-story that focused on the basics (character and conflict). I hope you enjoy it, and can provide a bit of feedback to me. :)



Maurice descended the cellar stairs, his tail held high, his soft feet leaving no sound at all. He disliked the cellar on general principle. Stuffy, stale air that smelled dead to his sensitive nose, cobwebs that stuck to his carefully-groomed, silky black fur. A dozen human things that really had no business even existing - sharp, unnatural smells. Like the smell mommy used to clean up the paint on her claws.

But today, he went down to the cellar despite it being unpleasant. Down the rickety wooden stairs with peeling dark-brown paint. He went down because he had heard something. A telltale squeak and the scampering of tiny claws. Mice.

Maurice loved stalking prey - maybe more than was warranted. In the rare occasions he dared go outside, he usually came up empty. One bird even made a sport out of taunting him, flying close to him on purpose, then veering sharply away when he lept. The other, older cats in the neighbourhood bullied him, chasing him all the way back inside whenever they caught him sneaking out.

But Maurice had caught a mouse before. And he would do so again. Determined he descended into the half-light of the cellar, his eyes adapting almost immediately. He settled down on the top of the loud box mommy spent so much time stuffing her fur into, and waited.

The loud box hummed slightly as Maurice patiently listened to the telltale scritchy-scratch sound coming from behind the box. He could smell his prey. He could hear his prey. But he could not see it.

Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch. The small sounds were hypnotic. They said all too surely the prey was there. But it did not show itself. Maurice swished his tail in frustration. He considered grooming himself - there was an awful feeling in his fur, as if the bad smells of the room were physically rubbing off on him. Then he heard another movement, and he saw the whiskered tip of the mouse’s snout.

Instantly Maurice tensed. Every muscle in his body on high alert. The head showed. The prey was on the move. Maurice lept just as the small animal came out in the open. Claws out, fangs bared.

He came up short, his deadly claws scraping uselessly against the rough concrete floor. The mouse out of reach even of his rebounding jump, a tip of its tail slipping past his talons. With a frustrated jowl, he gave chase, but it was no use. The mouse was just faster, and its erratic darts impossible for Maurice to predict. Before long, it had scampered into the box of potatoes mommy had stored in the corner of the room, out of reach for Maurice, climbing the bit of wood underneath without trouble.

Maurice growled. Between the potatoes, there was no room for him to grasp. To add insult to injury, he could hear the mouse’s teeth rasping away at the potato. There had to be some way to get at it. He paced before the big box. The mouse was in there, he could hear it, he could smell it. Why couldn't he just get it? He pressed himself close to the ground, watched in the small space below the box. He could see the mouse there, its beady little eyes gleaming. Watching maurice.

Suddenly light flooded the room. Mommy opened the side door besides the potato box. The startled mouse bolted. And this time, Maurice was ready for it. With a single leap he caught the mouse, and with a single bite he crippled it. Proudly he caught it in his jaw, and presented it to Mommy, who was using her front legs to carry something.

“Good boy!” Mommy said - and despite the odd stance she was taking, Maurice proudly paraded his catch to her.