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The Lump

HE found him lying in the field. He could barely make him out as he blended so well into the brown weeds and gray earth. Though it was clear-skies now, the early morning rain had mistreated the body which now seemed little more than a lump, it’s hair matted and it’s form pressed into the ground.

He didn’t have a name for the poor lump but he remembered him from the early days, playing in the trees, sometimes fighting for food but never angry. He felt like a brother of sorts though they didn’t have the same mother. They learned together, watching the grown ups and heeding their instincts and testing their surroundings. Sometimes at night they would sit together in the trees and stare up at the Moon, with their tummies full and nothing else to do. They liked the Moon.

It had to be the One Who Never Misses, the creature with the claws. It moved as silently as a cloud and as swiftly as the wind. Escape was impossible and it killed for killing’s sake, rarely devouring the catch.

So here he was, the lump. Lying in the field just to be found. He let the image of the lump fade and nimbly made his way to a safer place, where the One Who Never Misses wouldn’t find him.

That night he sat in the tree and stared at the heavens. Something floated across the stars and it’s gray form reminded him of his friend, the lump. Maybe that wasn’t his brother in the field. Maybe his friend went into the sky to be closer to the Moon he loved.

He stayed a while but wishing to close his eyes before the Sun came up, he crawled into the hollowed out space in the tree, safe for now, with the other rats.


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