They sat there, side by side, mother and daughter, huddled together, yet bonded by something a lot less tangible than physical contact. It was hard to label the feeling which they both experienced. Fear? Survival instinct? Greed? They had a rich supply of food with them already; grains were stored at the back of their dwelling in a pile so tall daughter could hide behind it if she so wished. Peeking out from the hole in the wall, they could see birds picking at grains and seed. They looked to be quite the culinary critics; only the most wholesome grains were pecked at with their piercing beaks. Their heads oscillated up and down as they scoured the ground for peanuts and sunflower hearts. Fussy eaters, birds. But then birds can afford to be fussy. Watching the birds, mother and daughter gathered a little nearer. The birds were a threat, but not as much of a threat as the girl on the bike.
Through the small gap (why had the builders left a gap in the brickwork of the wall?), they watched her. Most days she climbed on to her bike, even though she went nowhere. She sat on it and pedaled; sometimes working up such a sweat that it dripped from her forehead like a melting glacier, and made her hair stick to her forehead as if it were superglue not mere perspiration. The bike was fixed to a frame which appeared to stop it was running away very far. Daughter thought that, had she been a bit stronger (for she was still just a meagre little thing), she would try to remove the bike from the clasp of this torturous frame so that the girl could ride free. Mother assured her she would do no such thing; who knew of the girl’s motives or what she would do if she saw them.
And yet today it seemed inevitable they would have to blow their cover. Blame the vegetable patch, mother would say after, particularly the tomatoes. From their home they could see the patch, and had expressed no interest in it until three days ago when tomatoes the size of tennis balls blossomed from the otherwise monotonously green bed of herbs. Daughter had never tried a tomato (and even if she had she would still claim otherwise to persuade mother), and it would be such a feast in comparison to their usual humble meals of grains. Mother had eaten many a tomato, and insisted to daughter they really weren’t worth risking your life for. Daughter could only assume she had succumbed to gluttony (or she had been brainwashed), for here they were, risking their lives to assuage their taste buds.
She was only a girl, the one on the bike. Surely, she wouldn’t come after them if she saw them stealing from the patch? But mother had seen many of her friends die at the hands of young ones blabbering to their fathers. Her friends had all died at the hand of a father, but the death sentence had been issued when the child had opened their lips.
Mother leapt out first followed closely by daughter. Although daughter had never once seen the bike move, she was sure as they scurried in front of it that the cycle would have an epiphany and learn of its true purpose in life (to transport), and launch forwards flattening both her and her beloved mother. However, as they approached (on what seemed to be a very meandering route in the daughter’s opinion), she could feel the air being propelled away as the girl pedaled. She had slender legs for one of her sorts (yet not as gaunt as the daughters), but pedaled with surprising vigor. She had music playing today, which was only a blessing for mother and daughter; helped to hide the sound of their steps.
Mother thought they were going to make it- she thought she could smell the tomatoes they’d got that close, although she later doubted this as wasn’t sure the tomato aroma was one of the most distinguishable scents. But in her head, they were practically there. And then she saw them. The girl on the bike. She hauled on the brakes (why brake when you’re not going anywhere? Mother was ashamed to think this was her first thought, not the possible upcoming murder of herself and daughter). Both parties remained still. Mother looked into the eyes of the girl- she was probably someone’s daughter too. Of course, she was someone’s daughter, these folks weren’t that different to themselves. Her expression was of astonishment, but more amazed than aghast. As they rested a while longer, the girl’s expression unfolded and emanated endorsement and appreciation. Her eyes were dilated and disbelieving, as if she’d witnessed a miracle. Mother and daughter then scampered on their way. Mother later told her daughter that the girl might not have been so lenient, had she known the two mice she saw where going to steal her tomatoes. Daughter disagreed (as always), and insisted that the girl was nice, and that not all humans were bad.
Both the mice and the girl on the bike went to sleep with a sweet taste in their mouth that night. For the mice it was of tomatoes (and a bit of pepper – that vegetable patch was full of surprises), and for the girl it was of the simplicity and beauty of what she’d seen. All had been excited, then appeased by their share of simple pleasures, gifted to them by mother nature’s generous hand. All were deserving of nature’s offerings; all were worthy of life itself.
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