Down the Rabbit Hole

Doubts and a Little Brown Mouse

Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise
DAY 661 December 29, 2015

Prompt: What do you doubt the most?

With the New Year fast approaching, I would say what I doubt the most is ever writing anything remotely resembling an actual novel. I know that realistically I need to produce novel-length fiction to ever really consider myself a legitimate author and to present myself to any publishing house. I lack the word count to entertain most of the submissions I should pursue, the caliber of submissions that could materialize into real book deal of any kind. I doubt that I will ever find the time and the discipline to make those dreams a reality sadly. Not that I am ungrateful for my short story submission acceptances...I rejoice with every single publishing cred, token pay or not! Its jut that I know, in my own ambitious dreams, I see more for myself.

Blogging Circle of Friends
DAY 1140 December 29, 2015
Create a riddle or a story using a mouse, a wheel, a rose and pencil. Have fun! Looking forward to seeing where your creative minds take you!

Greta sat, sadly contemplating the withered rose in the cream-colored chipped vase. How quickly love had faded for them, not unlike the rapid decline of the once beautiful bloom before her. It had been an sun-filled summer romance. Malcolm had swept her off her mousy feet that day he collided with her in the surf of Brighton Beach. She had been so serious that day, working on her novel, a pencil tucked behind one ear, a few loose pages tucked under her arm. She was walking, running passages through her head as she walked along the water's edge. All of a sudden, there was impact and she was ass down in the sand. Malcolm had been so apologetic. He had helped her up, then went right ahead and helped himself to her unguarded heart.

Greta sighed, a sad and resigned sound that echoed off the walls in the empty classroom. She pulled another stack of papers in front of her and began to read through her fifth graders essays on summer vacation, her heart heavier that she would have thought possible. Squeakers, the classroom pet, as if sensing her agitation, began to run about in his cage, making noise in a bid for her affection. He set upon his wheel with a vengeance, filling the room with its metallic chiming. Greta abandoned the homework assignment. She crossed the room and slipped her hand inside the cage, scooping the mouse up in her delicate hands. Squeakers stared at her with tiny, black eyes, his twitching whiskers tickling her fingertips.

"Looks like you are the only man in my life now Squeakers, " she said, smiling sadly down at the little brown animal.

Greta heard the bell signally the end of recess. She returned Squeakers and made her way back to her desk. The kids would be filing back soon. At least, thought Greta, she could listen to their stories about summer vacation and try to forget about her own.