1st draft: 4 September 2005
unpublished
A Modernist Mouse was chewing through Literature’s shoelaces the morning it awoke to realize its mortality. It scared the Mouse away only to find a Post-Modernist Mouse chewing into the sole of the same shoe, while the Modernist had resorted to chewing Literature’s pantleg draped over the edge of the bed.
Literature dove for a closet, produced a can of RevRevReview, and doused the invaders as a sentry with napalm; afterward hiding their corpses in its closet on a shelf next to the RevRevReview.
Skipping out of the building, Literature realized it was vulnerable to oncoming rain due holey jeans. Being carefree by nature, Literature ignored the jeans and strolled merrily.
At a crosswalk not far from home, a trolley car named Genre barreled out of the street and onto the sidewalk. Literature’s right ear was lost. A band of schoolchildren with names like Romance, Horror, and a pair of twins named Fantasy hopped out of the trolley to apologize. Their teacher, Mrs. Grammar, wept crocodile tears at Literature’s side.
Later that week, Literature went into hiding and became a hermit because its bully cousin Idiot Box returned to its once-peaceful, suitable city. Idiot Box and Literature had not gotten along for many years; not since the day Literature’s mother had chosen to pick Idiot Box up from soccer practice instead of taking Literature to Uncle Sam’s house. Uncle Sam had promised Literature its own bicycle that day, had died the next, and Aunt Attention had given the bike to Idiot Box instead.
Years later, walking down Beat Street on a rare grocery run, Literature stepped into an amassed plot of used chewing gum on the sidewalk, shrieked, stumbled, floundered, and proceeded to nearly die. The gum, stubborn by nature, stuck all over Literature’s shoe sole. And as Literature walked, the gum attracted the very worst of fictive dreams, nightmares, clusterfucks; of poorly written manifestos and lackadaisical heartless prose.
Literature stopped finally in front of a shoe store, ogled a fancy pair of boots. Walked into the store, spoke to the clerk, had a change of mind, bumbled out, stood indecisive, and strode confidently back in to acquire the boots it had first desired.
In them Literature felt renewed, capable. Felt unafraid of Idiot Box or any of the countless children it’d had since their last encounter. Felt proud, and laughed at the gum which had ruined its favorite leather shoes.
At this point the gum turned clever, vigorous. A wind picked up as Literature dropped the gum’s chosen shoe sole and while Literature turned away the gum launched into the air and plastered itself into another plot not far in front of Literature.
The gum, after much concealed effort, finagled to attach itself to the sole of Literature’s boot, and until present day it gave platform to the worst combinations of letters it could while the fabric of Literature’s boots withered away and was relegated to memory.