It’s a beautiful, warm summer day. A perfect day to just sit in the sun and enjoy yourself. You gather together some things: a drink, a phone, maybe a book if you feel like it, and a jar of nuts to snack on. You set it all down on the table and take a seat. The sun feels good. It’s been awhile since you’ve just sat down and relaxed. You putter about on your phone for a bit until you realize that reading the news isn’t helping you relax, so you crack open your book.
A few chapters in and you realize you’re getting hungry. You pop the lid off your can of nuts and, without taking attention away from your book, stuff your hand inside. But… nothing? You passionately rummage around inside the can but find only disappointment. An old, brown cashew and a Brazil nut. You fucking hate Brazil nuts. Vile things that take up far too much space that should be reserved for much better nuts. You eat it, obviously, followed by the dilapidated cashew. But where did the rest of them go? You had a full can. You know you did.
You run back into the house in search for justification. Maybe a trail of half eaten nuts leading you to the answers you desperately need or maybe, you hope, you’ll find another can; this one full of something other than sadness. But, no. Nothing. You can’t find a single thing despite a a through and exhaustive search of the entire house, top to bottom, you find nothing! What is this!? Where did those nuts go!?
But then you see it. Out past the deck in the middle of the yard. A squirrel. Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch. He took your nuts.
You rush outside to give him a piece of your mind, but he runs off. Jumping from a tree, to the fence, and onto a neighbor’s tree. Bastard. You could do the same if you were younger. You go back inside, maybe to construct an elaborate trap to catch that fucking thief if… no… when he dares to come back into your yard.
After several hours of tinkering and a bit of welding you have completed it. You take it to the back yard and set it up, the pressure plate to spring the trap set in the exact spot he was sitting when you discovered him earlier. You know because you meticulously measured the distance from where the slight grass deformation is to the fence and then to the edge of the deck. Twice. This squirrel has met its equal. You sit back in your chair and wait. You pretend to read your book, checking your peripheral vision to see if that squirrel dare set foot on your property again. You know it will. It has the insolence. The rage-inducing, bald-faced gall. Your hands tighten around the book just thinking about it.
Then it happens. He’s back. He’s making his way toward the pressure plate. Do it. Do it you wretched beast! Spring that trap and suffer your fate! I’ll get those nuts back if I have to hold you upside down and shake them out of you! Your hands tremble with excitement as he gets closer and closer. Finally, after what may have been hours, he grazes the pressure plate, the trap triggers! Your excitement is unparalleled! All your work and waiting has paid off!
He escapes at the last second.
FUCK! That little furry fucking shitrat! You’ll get those nuts back! You’ll get YOUR goddamn nuts back!
You rip a tree branch off a small tree and, using a nearby rock, you start fashioning a makeshift spear. The squirrel is sitting on top of the fence, taunting you. Your eyes burn with hatred. You stare directly at the bushy-tailed burglar while sharpening your spear with the rock. Refusing to break your gaze. You cut your hand, but don’t feel it. There is no pain anymore. Only hatred. And Vengeance. You rub the blood from your hand all over your face, it feels cool in the hot summer sun. You tear your shirt off and make a rudimentary bandage, to keep the spear from slipping in your hand. You don’t want it to slip. You want it to strike true. Straight into the heart of your enemy.
You let out a scream and lunge toward the squirrel, thrusting your spear at its smug, tormenting face. It leaps away, onto a tree, then to another. With every bit of strength you hurl your spear. It misses, landing in a neighbor’s yard. The squirrel leaps back to its tree and goes inside. You yell. You yell in a language unfamiliar to you. Possibly the language of your long forgotten ancestors.
The tree! Maybe he’s using it to store the nuts. Is that only in cartoons? It’s worth a shot! You leap onto the fence and propel yourself onto the tree. You begin climbing. You climb at a speed unheard of for a human. You quickly reach the hole, the squirrels home. Let’s see how he likes unwelcome intruders! You thrust your hand in, feeling around. The squirrel bites and scratches at you but you feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. There’s nothing in here! There’s no nuts! You look inside, right into the despicable beasts eyes. You release another scream. This one loud enough for the squirrel to realize just what it has awaken.
You grab the squirrel by the neck. It’s yours. Vengeance. Justice! It’s yours. All you need to do is take it! You look into the wretched monsters tiny, soul-devoid eyes. It knows this is the end.
You hear a voice. A somewhat familiar voice. You know it’s saying something but you can’t make out the words. It’s in a language long lost to you. But it persists. Is it the squirrel? Telepathy? Can they do that? You try to understand what is happening… Woman? Is that what that sound is?
“I said: What in God’s name are you doing?”
Woman. Wife? Do you have a wife? You turn to look back at your house. You try to respond but words have lost meaning to you long ago. She shakes her head and goes back into the house. You look at the squirrel, it looks back; waiting for you to extinguish its existence. But you don’t. You put it back in the tree and climb down. Then you hear that woman’s voice again:
“Help me bring in the groceries. I got some ice cream. Oh and some more nuts cause I ate the other ones”
