I Remember

I was thinking today about a really short thing I wrote in my Creative Writing class last year. A little search in my documents and success! I found it.

I Remember

                      The little fluffy cotton ball mice, placed on the branches of the christmas tree. They smelled like spice; cloves and cinnamon. Today someone told me that I smell like spice. Maybe I'm a little mouse on the branch with the fake snow. Hiding away; warm and cozy.

                       I only remember knees. I couldn't see very high- so I examined the knees, legs, feet. I remember a tree, a porch, a little field that flooded during storms, a field where mice would play. Maybe I belonged out there with the other mice.

                       I remember being curious. The say curiousity killed the cat but maybe it was really just the mice getting revenge.

                       I remember when they said the garage door was broken. When they said not to go there. I remember sneaking down, quiet like a mouse. The loud banging on the shiny red corvette, loud enough to scare any mouse and make them cry. I remember realizing they didn't mean the large automatic door- a spectacle that would be exhilirating to any mouse. I remember wanting to be that mouse on the branch, hiding cozy with the smell of spices.