The mouse ran along a beam of the old shack and stopped. He looked down. The old man had been dead for three days now. He was slumped over his desk. His head rested on the sheets of paper he had been writing on. There were a few sketches among the writings as well.

The mouse wondered whether anyone would find him or even know where the old man was. The aged writer would come to the old shack every spring to write his books and sketch out new ideas. For nearly 30 years this ritual took place.

If only the old man had given him the piece of cheese he was begging for, he would not have choked on it when he ate it himself.

From the Dead Body Series
Written in 2004