The Winter Mice

In the summers they could forage or hunt to find food. Despite the destruction, food could still be found. Shelter wasn’t necessary, the weather was warm and they could comfortably sleep outdoors. It was only in the winters they needed to go indoors to seek shelter and scavenge for scraps to eat. They knew they couldn’t survive the harsh cold without refuge.

In late October the family, unnoticed, snuck into the lower level of the creatures’ habitation. They were awed by the size and scale of the structure; it was unimaginably huge and they felt very small and insignificant, but they had no other choice. They either sheltered here or they died.

The family avoided the traps, clumsily left out to catch them. The creatures were obviously aware of them, but didn’t seem to overly care about their presence. The pathetic number of survivors weren’t a threat to them, the surviving remnants had lost their status as the dominant species on the planet. The creatures no longer hunted them and except for the traps, the survivors were left to their own devices.

The family made a comfortable bed of straw and scavenged cloth amongst the other groups of other survivors. John looked round to make sure the children were settled. He saw tears cascading down Amanda’s face. She hadn’t really adapted to this new life, not even after two years. He took her hand and smiled, desperate to cheer her up.

“It’s not all bad, my love. The aliens might have eliminated most of humanity, but at least they let us shelter in their ships.”

∼ RJ Meldrum