A few weeks ago, my friend sent me a video of mice being well-trained and terribly clever. One of the parts showed a little grey mouse placing rings upon the mistress' fingers. Is anything more enchanting than a mouse placing a ring upon a lady's fingers? It's like something from the pages of a fairy tale, or a little side note in some kind of beautiful mythology. Since my life is always better with a touch of whimsy (which is why I go chasing rabbits and hares, howl at the moon, and find myself have conversations with curious foxes), I decided to try training my mice to place rings upon my fingers. I placed an old ring partially on my finger, in the hope that my mice would play with it, and push it on further. This half worked. Whiskey (my most bold and curious of little mouse princesses) was most drawn to the sparkly and shining object upon my finger, and did at one time push it onto my finger (a moment of thrills and magic), but after that, she decided that she wanted the treasure for herself. Understandable. I, too, am a magpie, attracted to shiny objects or things that I have never before seen. Still, this added that much more fairy tale beauty to my life. I want to write a fairy tale or something like it, centred mainly around mice placing rings upon fingers, with other inspiration drawn from rat kings. Oh, I do love rodents. I jotted down a few words that came to mind. This is what I wrote (though I need to edit and write more and draw and perhaps transform into a mouse myself).
My life is meant to have touches of whimsy, just as it is meant to be haunted by ghostly presences and remnants of a past life. Just as mice scurry away, carrying souls like whisps of silver gossamer, so she steals my ring. She steals it to bury and scratch,her black eyes sparkling behind a mask of dust-soft fur.
That is what I wrote immediately in my notebook. If I were to edit it, it would be something more like...
My life is meant to have touches of whimsy, just as it is meant to be haunted by ghostly presences and remnants of a past life. The mice scurry, carrying souls like shimmering threads, descending into a dark underworld where sparkling treasures are the only light. Just like a mouse stealing a soul, she steals my ring. She steals it to bury and scratch, her black eyes sparkling behind a mask of dust-soft fur.
Needs more work. I'll just keep writing. Particularly since I just realized... This seems to be echoing a lot of what I'll be writing about for an art piece I'm working on.
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