Mini Stories and One Shots

K.R. McCray (2): The Mouse Hole

The Mouse Hole

Sophie Morgan, your assignment is to tell me about your life. About yourself. Good luck, Sophs.

-          Kelsie R. McCray

My name is Sophie Elaine Morgan. I’m fifteen years old, and I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to start this. I wish I was ten again, to be honest. When I was that age it was just fact files: name, age, favourite colour, favourite food etc. Simple and easy. This, however, is not.

I want to start at the very beginning, because I’ve heard it’s a very good place to start. I don’t think you can understand me properly without knowing about my family, so here it goes. My mum’s name is Maxxon Morgan, and my Dad’s name is Tyler—well, it was before he died. He died when I was ten years old. Mum told me he used to be an Insomniac, which I think is really ironic. All of his life he just wanted sleep, and now he’s getting a little too much. ‘Be careful what you wish for’ has been slapping me in the face for the past five years.

I live in a small apartment with two small bedrooms. Mum has the smaller one, much to my displeasure. I’m only a small girl, you know. I think I can manage with a box room. Mum’s the one that needs the space. Still, she insisted.

Sometimes when you’re reading the newspaper, there’s an article about a family that have no money, that have only a small apartment, the mother is widowed, the father is dead, and you just can’t help but think that they must be really unhappy. You think that they probably all have sad frowns on their faces; you think that they’re probably wasting away on mouldy cheese and milk; and you can’t possibly imagine that they’re happy. It’s just not possible, right? Most of the time that is true, but it isn’t for me. My mum is always smiling because she says she can’t possibly be sad when she has a daughter like me. She says that every time she looks at me, she thinks of Dad, and all these happy memories come back to her. Mum says that I’m the most important person in the whole universe, but that can’t be true at all. That is because she is the most important person in the Universe. I love my mum; I love her to pieces.

I also love my Dad. He’s in heaven now, looking down at all of us, smiling—I hope. My dad was one of those dads that you wish you had. He took me out rollerblading on Saturdays, taught me astronomy when we went camping every month (yes, miss, that’s why I know all of those constellations), took my steamed veggies when Mum wasn’t looking, bought me books. My dad bought me lots and lots of books. I don’t think many fifteen year old girls have The Hobbit, Great Expectations, Of Mice and Men, Roald Dahl, the Nancy Drew series, and more in their library. But I do.

I remember how every Sunday my dad and I went to the bookshop down the road. Bippity, Boppity Book is its name. It’s filled with so many classic stories, and my dad and me sat and read them together, smelled the pages of the new book we’d gotten, and told Mum that she should read too. She always waved us away, laughing to herself, sharing a private look with my dad.

One day he got sick—very, very sick. And we couldn’t go rollerblading on Saturdays, look at the stars once a month, buy books, or finish reading The Great Gatsby. Because three weeks later, my Dad was dead, and The Great Gatsby went in the back of my wardrobe, and I never did learn what happened to Nick Carraway.

So that’s my mum and my dad. The two greatest people I’ve ever known.

About μου.

Too many people are using ‘About Moi’, and I want to be original for once. What is it with French? I honestly have no idea. I like Greek, and μου looks strangely like you, so I feel as though I’m saying me-to-you. I feel like I’m sharing something secret, something private.

I have no idea how to start this either.

I’m nothing special, really. I have a boring name. I have brown hair. I’m the person who you wouldn’t even spare a glance at in the hallway. I’m not interesting enough to dislike. I’m just Sophie. Sophie Elaine Morgan.

There’s nothing that I’m really good at—nothing that I can feel proud of. I’m good at reading lots and lots of books, but where is that going to get me in life?

I want to be able to sing and make ladies cry because of how beautiful my voice is; I want to be able to dance; I want to be able to get out a notebook and write, and be good at it. I want people to read my work and go, “Wow. This girl has got a gift.” I want to be like my mum and my dad. I’ve read their stories—they’re amazing. Mum wrote her life story and  told me I wasn’t  allowed to read it, but I snuck up into her bedroom one day, raked through the drawers, found it, and read the whole thing. I want to tell her she’s amazing at it, but I can’t, and that’s sometimes the worst thing about doing something you’re not supposed to.

What else is there to me?

Oh yeah, I listen to awfully old music. Songs by F.R David, The Beatles, Bon Jovi. You know, soft, melodic pieces that make you want to dance and sing along. I also listen to some really unknown people, artists that you mention, and everyone looks at you funny, thinking “Who on Earth is that?” To prove my point, I love Greg Laswell. Do you know who that is, Ms McCray?

I’m just Sophie. Boring old Sophie that splashes in puddles when no one is looking, who has the dullest shade of brown hair ever, who would rather read than party, who has nothing remotely interesting about her.

Even my eyes are boring. They’re just brown. You know what you can say to people with blue eyes? Wow, you have the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen! With green eyes you can say: Wow, your eyes are as verdant as lush pastures, and I can’t stop looking into them. But what can you say to people with brown eyes? Your eyes are... nice.

I’m complaining now. Oops.

I’m going to talk about good things now, because I’m honestly not usually this down in the dumps.

Good Thing #1: I’ve been told I can make really tasty banana bread. Remember that time when it was your birthday, and you had to come into school, and you weren’t particularly happy about it, so I made you that brown-coloured cake? You said you loved it? Yeah, that’s it.

Good Thing #2: I’m pretty good at English. My teacher says I have an active imagination.

Good Thing #3: I have a big heart, apparently.

Good Thing #4: I think I’m going to finish The Great Gatsby, and I’m doing it for Dad.

... And I may or may not be really curious about Nick and Gatsby and Daisy.

So what I’m trying to say here, Miss McCray, is that you can give me one hundred sheets of blank A4 paper, and you still wouldn’t know me. Not really.