6 April 2012
The first thing he saw was the big red sign.
As he strode quietly across the street, the hot asphalt singed his tiny pink paws. He knew he had to find food, and soon - the pain in his midriff had grown until it became almost unbearable.
He had always found something to eat near here. The green containers had a mixed smell of old, soured food, but he had developed a knack for digging out the more palatable delicacies - a torn piece of bread here, a moist, dirty burger patty if lucky.
He pushed his nose into the bin, and started snuffling furiously. Through the mould, he discovered the scent of unripened potato, and dug with his claws into the rubbish pile. Cans, polystyrene and plastic rustled around him and a tin clattered onto the concrete pavement.
That was when the man heard him. He looked up as the blow from the broom handle struck the side of his head, hard. He immediately tended his hind legs, and bounced backwards, as the blurred figure shouted a string of loud noises at him. His back hit the floor, and he looked up to the sky. The broom fell like a tower collapsing on top of him.
The last thing he saw was the big red sign.
Big Red Sign • Opuss № I