Randy had a strange dream where he was holding a snake by the neck and forcing it to eat its own tail. The dream filled him with euphoria. He was the master of his own destiny, a feeling he rather liked.
Sadly, this empowering fantasy was abruptly shattered by a furious barrage of knocking on the door. Randy, still half-lost in the afterglow of his triumph, burrowed deeper under the blankets, hoping that whoever was out there would simply go away. Or perhaps Will would answer it. It was a selfish thought, given how unhealthy his uncle seemed to be, but Randy was too sleepy to be kind.
Alas, the knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment, until Randy, with a loud groan, reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and shuffled towards the door.
Standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed against the dim light of the hallway, was his father, Romero, looking even grimmer than usual. His whiskers drooped, his eyes were narrowed into slits of disapproval, and his face was etched with a deep, unsettling disappointment.
"Where's your uncle?" Romero said. His voice was low and rough, as if he had been shouting for too long earlier.
"He's sleeping," Randy mumbled, still groggy from his slumber.
"Come with me, I'm taking you to the tunnels to work."
Randy had always wanted to see his father’s work. His dad worked so obsessively that Randy figured there must be something jolly about it. But not today. Today, he wanted to stay with Will and hear stories about The Wild more than anything in the world.
"But Dad, Mum said I could stay with Will today. I've been hearing stories…" He stopped abruptly, realising he'd made a grave tactical error.
Romero's head snapped up, his gaze sharp and suspicious. "Stories? What kind of stories?"
Randy blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Nothing. Just… boring stories about the past here in Villagloriosa," he lied, hoping that the sheer blandness of his description would make his father lose interest.
"Let's go now," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
"Can I at least say goodbye?"
Romero hesitated for a moment, but the look of his defeated son persuaded him to concede this request.
"Hurry," he grumbled.
Randy shuffled towards Will’s room. The door was ajar. He knocked lightly but got no response, just the sound of heavy breathing and coughing. He walked inside and saw Will lying there, his fake teeth on the bedside table next to him.
"Hello, Uncle Will," Randy said softly. "Are you sleeping?"
Will opened his eyes, a faint, toothless grin spreading across his face. "Do you sleep with your eyes open?" he slurred weakly.
"I wouldn't know. When I sleep, my eyes are looking at my dreams."
"Good point," Will said, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling, his thoughts far away.
"I have to go. My father's here"
"I heard," Will said feebly. "Don't worry, Randy. I am sure I'll see you soon. Give me a hug."
Randy leaned in and hugged his uncle tightly. As he did so, Will was seized by a violent coughing fit, his body wracked with tremors. Randy, startled and terrified by the intensity of the coughing, recoiled and stumbled back towards his father.
"Dad, Uncle Will isn't feeling well," he urged.
Romero rushed into the room. "Randy, bring him water, quick," he ordered. "What's the matter, Will?"
Will, between ragged coughs, managed a weak smile. "Old age. If you want to call that a matter or just a consequence of life."
"Try some milk. It'll help," Romero said.
"Milk and honey would do me so well," Will smiled, lost in a reverie
Romero visibly recoiled at the suggestion.
"Wait here. Randy and I are going home. I'll tell Rosaline to come take care of you," Romero said gruffly, though there was a flicker of tenderness in his tone.
"Can't you leave Randy here to keep me company?" Will asked hopefully, his hand weakly reaching out towards his nephew.
Romero's jaw tightened. "No. It's time he begins to make himself useful here in town."
Randy and Romero left Will's apartment, leaving the old mouse alone in his shadowy room with his coughs echoing softly behind them.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Romero walked briskly, anxious to get home. Randy wasn't sure if it was to avoid being late for work, to fetch Rosaline, or simply to escape the judging stares of the other mice in the square.
"I thought you were taking him to the tunnels," Rosaline said with a slight reproach as she saw them arrive.
"Something is wrong with Will," Romero said.
Rosaline's bravado crumbled. "What happened?" she asked, her entire body shaking.
"He's sick. Perhaps you should go see him."
“Of course I will go see him!” she screamed at Romero as she prepared to rush out.
"Mum, what's wrong with Uncle Will?" Randy asked, feeling a growing uneasiness.
Rosaline paused, her gaze softening as she looked at her son. "Nothing, dear. Go to the tunnels with Dad. You can see Will tomorrow."
Randy didn’t buy it; but off he went with Dad.
The tunnels extended from underneath the human mansion, a network of dark, damp passageways that snaked their way towards the distant fields on the hill. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the rhythmic scraping of countless tiny claws and teeth. It was a place of ceaseless toil, sparsely lit by flickering candles that cast dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls.
Randy and Romero arrived as the day was just beginning, and the tunnels were already a chaotic scene of mice jostling for position, their tiny bodies pushing and shoving in the dim light. There was a sense of grim determination in the air, a relentless drive to diligently perform their duties.
Eneldo, a seasoned digger with teeth that were remarkably thick and black from years of chewing dirt, worked beside Randy. "Finally we get to meet you, Randy," Eneldo said, a bit too cheerfully considering the grim surroundings. "The first day is always tough, but pretty soon you'll be a pro just like me and enjoy it." He smiled, revealing the full extent of his impressive, yet rather unsettling, black teeth.
Randy wasn't entirely sure that "enjoying it" was a realistic aspiration. He studied Eneldo's technique and began to dig with his own teeth, mimicking the older mouse's gnawing. For the first ten minutes, it was mildly interesting. There was a certain satisfaction in carving into the cool earth, a sense of primal connection to the very ground beneath his paws.
Then, it became disgusting. The darkness pressed in, the air grew thick with the smell of damp earth and the musky scent of a dozen unwashed mice, and the dust, fine and gritty, coated Randy's fur, clinging to his throat and making him cough. The strenuous work, the endless gnawing, the sheer monotony of it all was unbearable. The day had barely begun, and Randy was already wishing he’d never been born.
"Don't worry about your teeth," Eneldo said, noticing Randy's increasingly laboured efforts. "They keep growing stronger as you wear them down. Only sweets destroy them."
This was meant to be comforting. It was not.
The digging dragged on and on, an endless cycle of gnawing, scraping, and spitting out dirt. Randy's arms ached, his teeth felt strangely numb, and his initial fascination with the tunnels had evaporated, replaced by a profound and all-encompassing misery. He started to fantasise about the roof collapsing, burying him in a merciful avalanche of dirt and ending his suffering.
Romero noticed Randy's dwindling enthusiasm and shoved a bucket at him, assigning him to the less demanding task of taking dirt out of the tunnels. But Randy’s spirit was already crushed by the monotony and drudgery, dragging his feet, his gaze fixed on some distant, imaginary paradise where cheese was outlawed and digging was a forgotten art. He hated digging. He had decided — adventurers don’t dig.
"Perhaps it's time to accept your son doesn't have a flair for digging, Romero," Saffron, the head digger, said to Romero.
"No one's born knowing everything like you, Saffron," Romero retorted.
"When will this end?" Randy thought, his mind teetering on the edge of rebellion. "I should run away. This makes Mum's yelling and force-feeding feel like a vacation."
Strangely, as he thought of cheese, he actually relished that thought. For the very first time in his life, he was starving.
Not just peckish. Not just a mild rumble in the tummy. He was famished. Yes, so hungry that even the idea of eating cheese sounded appealing. His mother had always ensured he was fed regularly, often to the point of force-feeding. Indeed, he had never experienced the gnawing, all-consuming emptiness of a ravenous stomach.
"Chamber! We found a chamber!" Eneldo's shout echoed through the tunnels.
"Everyone, stand back!" Saffron ordered, sharp and commanding. "Jimbu! Go get Euphemia, quick!"
Jimbu, a scrawny, nimble digger, darted off to fulfill his errand.
"This is Euphemia's job now. We're done," Saffron declared with great satisfaction.
Randy crept forward to peek into the newly discovered chamber. He saw faint shadows of items packed together. It was hard to make out much in the dim light.
"Out, Randy!" Saffron barked, "No one but Euphemia and her crew is allowed to explore the insides of these chambers. It requires careful extraction and can ruin the milk."
"This is so exciting," Eneldo said to Randy, his eyes shining with a childlike glee. "You are so lucky, Randy. We don't find milk chambers often, even though we work every day hoping to stumble upon them."
Euphemia, the Elders, and a contingent of her personal guards arrived some time later.
"Thank you all," Euphemia said to the group. "You will all receive triple milk allowance this week. Please take the rest of the day off now."
The mice cheered. Randy remained curious, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious chamber, but Romero, with a firm paw on his shoulder, pulled him away.
"You shamed me today," Romero said on the way back, his tone ringing with a quiet disappointment that cut deeper than any shout. "You were lazy. We can't afford to look bad in this town. We must contribute even more than others."
"I wasn't lazy… I just don't like your job." Randy said with a weak voice that trailed off.
"It's not about liking it. It's about doing it. Do you think I like it? I do it because it must be done. We all have to contribute to the community, otherwise the community will perish."
"I'm sorry, Dad."
Randy's apology was sincere, but he still felt he was an adventurer, and adventurers don’t dig.
"Don't be sorry. Work harder," Romero's words rang like a pleading command.
Back at home, Randy devoured all the cheese that Rosaline had left for him with insatiable hunger. It’s a shame she wasn’t around to witness it; she would have been so proud. Randy worried if she was still with Will. But he was too exhausted by all the toil to dwell on it for long. After finishing his meal, he collapsed into bed, traversing endless tunnels in his dreams.