Mercy

It's a funny sound, like a bark. But not a dog's bark.

A sound we had never heard before, but which was still familiar, somehow. Or not familiar - known. It may have come in many other forms before, but it is always recognisable, always known. The meaning in it is always known.

Across the street a boy in a waiter's uniform is pushing a mouse off the pavement with a sweeping brush. The sound had come from the mouse, and it meant stop. It meant please stop.

A girl appears beside the boy and takes a picture on her phone. They laugh.

The boy pushes again and the mouse rolls over a few times and falls into the gutter. It is trying to crawl away but there is something wrong with its back legs. They are twisted in a way they shouldn't be.

My friend and I don't want to watch, but we are unable not to.

The boy follows the mouse and pushes it forward again, further down the gutter. The mouse is still trying to walk. It makes no more sounds.

I hear a voice saying kill it, kill it, just kill it, and I realise it is me saying it. Please kill it.

Someone.

I can't, I don't know how. I never thought I would need to learn to kill for mercy's sake.