Filed under: Telling stories, Writing | Tags: #fictionfriday #fridayflash #wirteanything #threeblindmice
“Right, I’ve checked all under the floorboards, mother, and they’re not there.” said Mr. Blockman, reaching for some cheese from their brick table. “They must have gone through the hole while we were out.”
His wife began to cry, “Oh, Alfie, they won’t last five minutes out there. They’ll either be the cat’s lunch or the piranhas’, if Mrs Higgin’s has anything to do with it. I’ve seen her chuck all sorts in that tank.”
“Well, there’s only one thing for it, Avril, my love.” Without hesitation he shot through the hole, his claws scraping on the farmer’s wife’s terracotta tiles. The kitchen was empty but a mess. Scanning the room, Alfie saw smashed plates and dented pans strewn across the ground. Looking harder, his face dropped when sprawled on the floor he saw three tails with bloody stumps. Lifting his head past the cupboards dripping in dough, the sharp corner of a carving knife reflected in his eye.
Behind him came a high pitched squeal that made Alfie spring in the air. It was Mrs. Blockman hovering in the doorway of the hole, she began to sob. “They’re gone. My darling little boys must be dead in the ground…I mean water.” She mumbled through her tears as her husband tried to compose himself.
Alfie rolled his eyes and landed his sights on something that made his back straighten and his chest puff out. “There’s still hope, Avril, look,” he said, pointing at a blood trail leading out of the kitchen, through the wide open back door.
Racing outside, their hind legs flicked through scattered straw, following the track of red ahead. Outside the paddock, they took a breath, both squinting at a bright blue lump in the distance, lying by the fallen oak tree that rested in the field. “That’s Mrs Higgin’s. She looks like she’s sleeping. What the hell is she doing?”
Inspecting the scene once they had neared the old woman, it was clear that the farmer’s wife had tripped on a large piece of flint wedged in the ground. Slowly, brave father mouse edged towards the fat, ruddy woman who lay flabby cheek squished in the mud. Trembling claw, he tapped her tummy a few times until Avril tutted loudly from her spot a few yards away. “You’re not going to find out if she’s alive like that, darling. Try her nostrils.”
Reluctantly, Mr. Blockman walked towards the human’s face and taking careful steps, placed himself infront of her nostrils. A breeze snorted out of her nose, shaking his whiskers. He backed away. “Yes, she’s alive.” he said. A chorus of squeaks sounded nearby. He scurried around the motionless body to see his little angels struggling to pull away from the dense weight of her belly.
“Dean, Frank and Bing, you’re here. Oh Dean, Frank and Bing, you’re ok. Mother, Avril, Mother, come see, come see, your boys are here. Don’t worry, my darlings, we’ll get you out.” Their Dad ran back around to a long, thick black hair protruding out of Mrs Higgin’s chin. With all his might and one sharp yank, he pulled it out. Fat, old Higgins shuddered from head to toe setting the boys free. Their parents gave a loud cheer.
Still keeping her distance, a slightly perplexed Mrs. Blockman watched as her children dizzily scampered out from Mrs Higgins and each whacked their heads on the colossal trunk of the fallen oak tree. Avril and Alfie sprinted over to their dizzy boys who were all trying to get their breath back. Dean shouted out, “Dad, is that you?”
“Of course it’s him,” said their Mum, “he’s right in front of you. What are you talking about?”
“We can’t see anything, Ma.” said Bing, “haven’t been able to since she fell on us.”
A silence passed until Alfie approached his wife and stroked the top of her head with his chin, Dean lifted himself on his hind legs and said, “Mum, Dad,” said the mouse, “Don’t be sad, it might be temporary. What we need is for you to lead us home and nurse our stumps. We can follow your voices.”
“They’re alive, April,” said Alfie, softly, “that’s all that matters.”
“Alright, boys, follow the voice of your father” said Avril, “Careful of manure, Alfie.”
© Vicky Bigmore 2011
This Friday Flash came from the Write Anything site and was:
Write a story using a nursery rhyme (Mary had a little lamb, Three Blind Mice, Jack and Jill, Three Pigs etc.) as your inspiration. Write it from a secondary character’s point of view. I chose:
Three blind mice. Three blind mice.
See how they run. See how they run.
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?
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