some page-eight article,
with a modest paragraph beside an exposé on some celebrity’s makeup ritual and
maybe a few pictures of a funfair. Oh it’s so sad. Now have you heard what she uses in her hair ?! I was nearly out, in the blessed safety
of the streetlamps, when I felt a sinewy, claw-like hand grab my wrist.
I screamed, of course. But I also felt embarrassed about screaming. And then I felt confused by the embarrassment. Then I screamed
again as I felt another hand, made of jelly and pig fat, grab my bum.
“Oh yeah, baby,” Fat said into my ear. His breath was too
hot and smelt of cider and cigarettes.
I tried to squirm away, but Rat’s hold on my wrist was
strong and Fat was grabbing and pinching my bum. I looked around, breathing
heavily, a curtain coming over my vision, black and red, but nobody was there.
“We’re gunna ’ave some fun, slut,” Rat hissed. “You’re a dirty little whore ,
aren’t you? You’re a fucking ugly cunt.”
“No,” I squealed, and tried again to pull away.
“Yes, you are,” Rat spat, saliva splattering my shoulder.
“No, no.”
Fat’s hand was up my skirt now, coming close to the top of
my leg. Still, nobody else was in the underpass. “I bet you’re tight,” he
laughed.
“Please, stop,” I said. “Please, I’ll give you money. Do you
want money? I can give you money.”
“Rich bitch,” Rat giggled. “The only thing we want from you
is that little present between your legs.”
“She feels good,” Fat said, his hand on the outside of my
underwear.
Then, something happened. I told you I was an office
mouse . That’s true. I’m small and I don’t have muscles or anything like
that. But something came from inside me, some animal instinct I didn’t know I
had. Rat spun me so I was facing him, his dirty face close to mine, while Fat
tried to fit his massive hand in my underwear.
Rat let go of my wrist, just for a second, and that’s when I
reached into my bag, pulled out my scissors, and stabbed the little shit right
in the neck. I stabbed him over and over and over. I fell on top of him, and I
screamed, and I let out all the pain and agony and built-up frustration that
come with being an office mouse .
Fat jumped back, bleating. “Crazy bitch!”
I turned on him. But I wasn’t myself. I wanted to kill him,
too. What right did he have? Touching me like that. None. But he turned and
plodded away as fast as he could, his fat jiggling in waves.
Then, the animal instinct left and the office mouse returned.
Chapter Two
If I believed in miracles, I would say God intervened that
night and stopped anyone from wandering into the underpass. As it is, all I can
say is I was damned lucky.
I stared down at the dead body, at the big, gleaming pools
of blood spreading across the pavement, and thought, Did I really do that? I couldn’t believe it. There was so much blood, and Rat’s face, so full of hate
and lust before, was now slack and dead-eyed. I wanted to close his eyes, the
way they do in the films. Overhead, I heard sirens, and for a terrified second
I thought they were coming for me, but then they retreated, echoing into
silence.
I couldn’t just leave the body there, I knew, but the idea
of touching him made me feel sick. I also had no idea what to do. I worked in
the bloody complaints department, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t kill someone and
then move the body. I should’ve been at home right now, with Blinky and Rocky
around my feet and a cup of tea and some bad TV. Kirsty Dunn was no killer.
Kirsty Dunn was an office mouse .
“Christ, Christ, Christ .”
I slumped against the wall as the panic loomed upon me. It
rose in my chest and made breathing difficult. Thinking was impossible. All I
knew was there was blood on my hands and a dead body close to my feet and the
office mouse had become a killer. I didn’t exactly have friends at the office,
but there were people I talked to and laughed with and passed the day with. If
Goggles
with a modest paragraph beside an exposé on some celebrity’s makeup ritual and
maybe a few pictures of a funfair. Oh it’s so sad. Now have you heard what she uses in her hair ?! I was nearly out, in the blessed safety
of the streetlamps, when I felt a sinewy, claw-like hand grab my wrist.
I screamed, of course. But I also felt embarrassed about screaming. And then I felt confused by the embarrassment. Then I screamed
again as I felt another hand, made of jelly and pig fat, grab my bum.
“Oh yeah, baby,” Fat said into my ear. His breath was too
hot and smelt of cider and cigarettes.
I tried to squirm away, but Rat’s hold on my wrist was
strong and Fat was grabbing and pinching my bum. I looked around, breathing
heavily, a curtain coming over my vision, black and red, but nobody was there.
“We’re gunna ’ave some fun, slut,” Rat hissed. “You’re a dirty little whore ,
aren’t you? You’re a fucking ugly cunt.”
“No,” I squealed, and tried again to pull away.
“Yes, you are,” Rat spat, saliva splattering my shoulder.
“No, no.”
Fat’s hand was up my skirt now, coming close to the top of
my leg. Still, nobody else was in the underpass. “I bet you’re tight,” he
laughed.
“Please, stop,” I said. “Please, I’ll give you money. Do you
want money? I can give you money.”
“Rich bitch,” Rat giggled. “The only thing we want from you
is that little present between your legs.”
“She feels good,” Fat said, his hand on the outside of my
underwear.
Then, something happened. I told you I was an office
mouse . That’s true. I’m small and I don’t have muscles or anything like
that. But something came from inside me, some animal instinct I didn’t know I
had. Rat spun me so I was facing him, his dirty face close to mine, while Fat
tried to fit his massive hand in my underwear.
Rat let go of my wrist, just for a second, and that’s when I
reached into my bag, pulled out my scissors, and stabbed the little shit right
in the neck. I stabbed him over and over and over. I fell on top of him, and I
screamed, and I let out all the pain and agony and built-up frustration that
come with being an office mouse .
Fat jumped back, bleating. “Crazy bitch!”
I turned on him. But I wasn’t myself. I wanted to kill him,
too. What right did he have? Touching me like that. None. But he turned and
plodded away as fast as he could, his fat jiggling in waves.
Then, the animal instinct left and the office mouse returned.
Chapter Two
If I believed in miracles, I would say God intervened that
night and stopped anyone from wandering into the underpass. As it is, all I can
say is I was damned lucky.
I stared down at the dead body, at the big, gleaming pools
of blood spreading across the pavement, and thought, Did I really do that? I couldn’t believe it. There was so much blood, and Rat’s face, so full of hate
and lust before, was now slack and dead-eyed. I wanted to close his eyes, the
way they do in the films. Overhead, I heard sirens, and for a terrified second
I thought they were coming for me, but then they retreated, echoing into
silence.
I couldn’t just leave the body there, I knew, but the idea
of touching him made me feel sick. I also had no idea what to do. I worked in
the bloody complaints department, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t kill someone and
then move the body. I should’ve been at home right now, with Blinky and Rocky
around my feet and a cup of tea and some bad TV. Kirsty Dunn was no killer.
Kirsty Dunn was an office mouse .
“Christ, Christ, Christ .”
I slumped against the wall as the panic loomed upon me. It
rose in my chest and made breathing difficult. Thinking was impossible. All I
knew was there was blood on my hands and a dead body close to my feet and the
office mouse had become a killer. I didn’t exactly have friends at the office,
but there were people I talked to and laughed with and passed the day with. If
Goggles
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