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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, July 17, 2011

White Mice

photo courtesy of Rosie Hardy
...and then they led her back to her cell. Her eyes burned; her skin itched. Yellow pus oozed out of a hastily sewn incision on her abdomen. As they locked the door behind her and crawled off, she thought she heard them say, "Don't worry. Their brains are so tiny, they can't feel any pain."

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

13 comments:

Brian Miller said...

oh my...yeah, not cool abusing animals...probaly testing the latest breast implant material...or make up

Reflections said...

Excellent piece! Love it, all of it!

dustus said...

Ha! Loved how the 55 almost picks up mid-story. Smooth lead into a rather harrowing scene, and with the script-flip of mice doing the insulting. Awesome, LolaMOUSE... unique microfiction!

Pat Tillett said...

powerful and thought provoking!
that whole guinea pig process bothers the hell out of me...

Fireblossom said...

That kind of thinking drives me up the wall. It's just wrong.

Brent Wescott said...

Seems a little 1984 with the heads in rat cages. I like it.

Building Castles on the Beach

hedgewitch said...

Always easy to discount the pain you don't feel yourself. Well said, lm.

dragonkatet said...

:( wow, you don't pull any punches with this one!

Jingle Poetry said...

vivid and haunting.
well done.

MISH said...

A visual and graphic piece ~ well done !

darev2005 said...

Ooo.... That made me really uncomfortable.

120 Socks said...

OMG what an image - great flash fiction piece!

thebrainblitz.com said...

short and powerful. well done.