Stall 2

Chapter 61.

"What have I become

My sweetest friend?

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end"

Song: Hurt - Johnny Cash.

******

Harry's P.o.v.

Year 2002. Age 10.

"Shhh... Please don't be scared," I whisper, watching the small mouse run around in the plastic container that I'm holding.

I put some air holes in the lid so it can breathe.

I'd been trying to catch it for days. The damn thing kept running off and hiding.

Ever since my father saw it in the kitchen he'd set traps all over the house to kill it.

I'd sneak down stairs in the middle of the night and set them off, but I can only do that so many times before he catches me.

And then I'm in big trouble.

I didn't want him to hurt it.

He hurt the neighbours cat when it wouldn't stop coming into our garden.

That was my fault. I shouldn't have kept petting it when I would get home from school. If I left it alone he wouldn't have hurt it. He knew I liked that cat.

I hate when he hurts things and I can't stop him.

Just like I couldn't stop him hurting mum. He tells me that was my fault.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," I assure this little brown mouse, and keep the container close to my chest as I run through the field behind my house, "I'm trying to help. I'm gonna let you go."

I have a few hours before my father gets home. On Wednesdays he gets home later than usual. I like Wednesdays. I get to watch Peter Pan and not worry about him finding out.

When I reach the edge of the field near the pond, right where there's a large gathering of trees I stop running.

I try to catch my breath, and my lungs are burning from the cold air.

There's an old pub, a few feet away on the other side of the trees, with a big shed behind it.

"I think you'll be warmer in there," I say, glancing down to the container, seeing the mouse huddled in the corner.

I'm trying not to look at the water. I hate that even things like ponds scare me now. It's stupid.

None of the other kids at school are scared of stuff like that.

When I reach the shed, I look around quickly to make sure no one is watching, before shoving the old wooden door open and seeing it filled with all kinds of tools; there's hay and bags of grain in there too.

The man that owns the pub has some sheep in a paddock not far from here, along with some chickens.

I don't go and see them though. I don't want to get them hurt somehow.

I crouch down near some of the hay, and sit the container on the ground, before removing the lid.

The mouse doesn't move, it just looks at me.

"You can go," I tell it, trying to shoo at it with my hands, "You're safe now. But you gotta stay here. You can't come back to my house."

I kinda wish I could keep it. It's cute. I don't really have any friends besides Jimmy, and I'm not allowed to have a pet. My butterflies still come visit though.