Requiem for a Mouse (15 page)

LISSANDRA

Lissandra awoke in a daze. She shielded her eyes from the sun’s brutal assault, its rays like lances. Grumbling, she rolled out of the trash. Her hair stuck together, held by some vile goo.

She groaned as she combed her fingers through her hair. Her head pounded, pulsating every time her heart beat. Her chin hurt even worse. But the worst was the burning sensation between her legs. Though the pain wasn’t great, it brought with it an incredible sense of shame, the kind that told her she belonged back in the trash.

“Are you okay?”

Lissandra turned, her eyes still unused to the light. “It’s you,” she gasped. In front of her was the Mouse that had saved her. His hazel eyes looked different when under the sun and not clouded by tears.

“I’m Bolt,” the Mouse said. He held out a hand to help her up. “What’s your name?”

She gave his hand a long look before pulling herself up with the edges of the wall. “I’m fine.”

Bolt looked confused. “Umm, okay. Where are you going?”

“Home.” Every step sent jitters up her legs. “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way to church.”

“There’s no church around here.”

“I took a detour.” He was a terrible liar. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She ignored him. It would be easy to just take his hand, to let him lead her away again, but her crying muscles provided too sweet a distraction. Without it, she wasn’t sure if she’d be strong enough to make it back home.

“Look, you don’t have to be stubborn,” Bolt hovered his hand over her shoulder.

Lissandra could see genuine worry in his eyes. She slapped his hand away with a snarl. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

She continued on her way, struggling through the alley at a snail’s pace. Every few steps, she would stop to rest. Bolt followed close behind her silently.

At last, Lissandra made it to the end of the alley, its mouth opening up to reveal the open dirt street. The traffic was light. After all, it was only noon.

She took a deep breath before letting go of the wall. The first step was hard, but not impossible. She stopped for a few seconds to test her balance. With a small mile, she took another. This one crumbled underneath her. With a yelp, she toppled over.

“Are you okay?”

Lissandra looked up from the ground to see a hand in front of her face. Since she had met this Mouse, his hand had always been there. The world seemed incredibly distant, Bolt’s voice sounded like an echo, and once again, she felt as if she was watching her own life playing out on a TV screen.

“You need help,” Bolt’s voice stretched.

Lissandra staggered up. As expected, her legs gave out once again.
I can’t do this.
She closed her eyes, prepared to hit the ground. Instead, she felt two arms wrap around her stomach, struggling to support her.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” Bolt said.

Lissandra wanted to melt into his embrace, to lay her head down and let him carry her home. But she knew she couldn’t. Leon needed a strong sister and only the most resilient girl could disobey Gunther. And even if she had been robbed of all her dignity, she still held some pride. It was the only thing she had left.

She yanked away Bolt’s hands and pushed off him. He fell backwards and she fell forward. They both hit the ground with a thud.

Sorry, Bolt.

Nobody could expect him to understand her. From his perspective, she probably seemed like an utter bitch. But she didn’t have the strength to explain herself or apologize. It would take her everything she had to make it home.

She grabbed the dirt in front of her and clawed herself forward one more inch.

FLOWER

This is a dream.

Flower knew. She had always known, but it wasn’t wrong to enjoy this fiction. “Can we go back home?” she whined and tugged on a rough and rugged hand.

“Ariel, stop whining so much.” A voice said, one that matched the roughness of the hand. But there was a familiarity that came with it, one that felt warm. “We’ll go home soon.”

“But dad, I’m tired!” And it was true, her entire body ached. Flower stomped her feet on the ground, dragging them like anchors.

“Ariel,” her father sighed, “Just one more thing, I promise you.”

“You said that ten minutes ago!” Flower looked at the retreating sun behind him. “I’m too tired to walk.”

“Aren’t we a little too old for this game?” Though there was annoyance in his voice, his mouth split into an open smile.

Flower crossed her arms and shrugged.

“Arghh,” her father roared and in a sweeping motion, he flung her onto his shoulders. “Where to, princess?”

Flower giggled so hard she almost fell off his shoulders. But she knew if she was to fall, her father would catch her. “That way,” Flower pointed behind her. “Giddyup! Back home!” Much to Flower’s amusement, her father spun as fast as he could.

“Wrong way!” Flower complained happily as they walked toward the sun.

“I may be your trusty steed, but you forgot to train me!” Her father yelled. “Haha!” He spun around, wildly dancing to the sound of Flower’s laughter.

When the dancing stopped, Flower intertwined her arms onto her father’s head. She rested her face into the nest she had created. To her surprise, she couldn’t feel his hair. Then she remembered why.

“This is a dream,” Flower whispered into her father’s hair.

Her father didn’t answer.

“I’m not really with you and as soon as I wake up, you’ll be gone again.” She choked on the words. Tears came to her eyes. “I bet I’ll wake up any second now, and when do, I won’t even remember this. I can’t even remember what your hair felt like.” She ran her fingers through his hair. Nothing.

“Don’t cry, Ariel.” Her father said, but his voice came out broken, for he was crying too.

“Daddy, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I didn’t know how.”

“No, Ariel. You were just a little girl, you still are. It’s okay to be a little girl. While I’m still here, I just want to tell you—”

“Flower!”

Flower jerked awake.

“Flower!” Maverick yelled again and then appeared before her, outside her tent. “Did Sasha get—” He stopped and stared.

“What?” Flower asked.

“You’re crying.”

His answer surprised her. Flower brought her hands to her cheeks. It was true. Flower tried thinking back to what could’ve caused these tears, but she couldn’t recall. Somehow, this made her feel even worse. Her eyes swelled with more tears. “I don’t know,” she responded.

“Is everything alright?” Maverick asked. “Is this about… you know, last night?”

Flower shook her head. “I must’ve had a bad dream or something. I’ll get over it.” She wiped away the tears. Crying over nothing was only something little girls did.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Maverick spoke like he was afraid of startling her. He had gone to sleep shortly after Bolt’s seizure. Though Flower had promised to wake him up when Sasha or Prince returned, she decided against it when it happened.

“Yeah, Sasha came back carrying Prince.” Flower answered. “He’s fine,” she added on, seeing Maverick’s expression change. “But there were a few scares. He only woke up long enough to tell us about some Hawk named Bryce, whoever the hell that is.”

“Did you say Bryce?” Maverick asked, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

“No.” His answer was too quick once again.

Flower looked him hard in the eyes, as if she could pick his lies apart with only that stare. “How do you know him?”

“I probably just heard the name on TV or something.” Maverick said effortlessly.

More lies. None of them liked talking about their time before Sasha but Maverick did so with near religious zeal. Flower didn’t even know his pre-Sasha name. She crossed her arms and stared at Maverick.

MAVERICK

“Someone from your dark and mysterious past?” Flower joked. She had been making jokes like this for the past ten minutes. Neither were ready for an actual conversation because there was only one serious topic to talk about. However, this topic wasn’t much better.

“No way.” Maverick laughed. “My past isn’t that exciting.”

Flower’s lips twisted into a small pout. “I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s just not worth talking about.” Maverick turned, finally catching a break in the conversation. “I’ll go to the market to buy us lunch.” He left before Flower could pester him further. Only Sasha knew about his past and at times, he regretted even that.

What are you doing?

Maverick punched himself in the leg. He couldn’t believe how loose his tongue had been. It was unusual for him to lack so much poise. He shook his head. Poise was a necessity, especially for where he was about to go.

Maverick stopped in front of a large stone building shaped like a cube. Except for the cracks jolting through the grey walls and the windows that looked like they had been made with a sledgehammer, the building was plain. It held a single wooden door. There was no handle, only a hole where the handle once was. Maverick pushed the door open, watching termites scramble away.

The building housed an equally unimpressive room. The floors were cement. The musk of blood and sweat resonated off it. Maverick pursed his lips, nearly able to taste the blood in the air. The room had not changed at all.

The bar at the end of the room was still made of broken wood and the water that came out of its faucet was stained brown, just as he remembered. The rest of the room was devoid of furniture. Two crowds of people huddled into circles. They each took up half of the room.

Maverick ignored the silent crowds as they did him. The silence was new. Back when he had fought here, the crowds were always on the edge of rioting. They hurled insults at him, spat on him, and cheered him on. But now, the only sound in the room came from the people stationed at the bar and the smacking of skin against cement. Every now and then, there would be a grunt followed by a howl of pain.

Curious, Maverick peeked through one of the crowds. There were two boys in the middle. They were much older than he thought they’d be, both already in their teens and both already bloodied. One was on top the other. The one on top swung his bleeding knuckles into the other boy’s face. Every swing brought with it a jet of blood.

I wonder if they’ll let the boy live.

Maverick knew all too well the punishment for going limp, it was what drove them to fight so hard. Slowly, the boy on the ground’s eyes started rolling back, just a little at a time until they were completely white. His head fell to its side, blood still dripping out of his mouth. Maverick shook his head, back in his day, any boy would’ve lasted minutes longer.

Much to his surprise, the other boy got up. Maverick gaped at the crowd as they parted ways to let the victor through. Nobody in the crowd raged or screamed, instead, they clapped. It had only been a few years, but everything had changed.

“Holy hell, guess who finally decided to show up?” Someone called out from the bar. “This place has gone to shit since we fought here.”

Maverick turned to see a bald head and its twisting tattoo. “Bryce.” He walked to the bar and with a single gesture, ordered the specialty drink.
“Back when we were in the rings, we were fucking gladiators.” Bryce sucked in his snot and spit onto the ground. “Now look at these kids. They’re insects!” he threw his head back and finished the murky concoction in his glass. With drunken sway, he threw the glass at the unconscious boy on the ground. The crowd ducked out of the way. The glass shattered by the boy, just barely missing his face.

“Hey!” the bartender snapped, clearly out of patience. “One more violation and you’re out.”

Bryce turned with even less patience. “Do you see my fucking tattoo? I was born in this place. You can’t kick me out of my home.”

The bartender looked on helplessly. Maverick could see the fear in his eyes, Bryce probably had a reputation. Maverick waved his hand between them, “I’ll take care of this,” he told the bartender. With a single nod, he turned toward Bryce.

“How about we enter the pits? Finally settle which one of us is stronger.” Bryce slurred.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“C’mon!”

“No.” Maverick said firmly.

Bryce recoiled away from the words like they were knives. “Why?”

Maverick shrugged, “it’s in the past.”

“Shit!” Bryce swiped Maverick’s drink off the bar. It disintegrated with the blow. The destruction seemed to calm him down. “I never thought I’d see the day that the Crushin’ Russian wouldn’t enter the pits.”

“I go by Maverick now.”

“You even changed your name? What the hell happened to you?”

“I became a Mouse.”

This shut Bryce up. He gave Maverick a strange look, as if trying to solve some sort of puzzle. With a small shake of his, he turned back to the bartender. “Another,” he commanded. Without turning his head, he said, “you got rid of your name, your job, and your title. Why are you even here?”