I killed a mouse tonight. It was a complete accident, honestly. I opened the door to the garage, took one step towards putting the soda away. Then I took a second step and “Kwrookweoroo.” I felt something gross and smooshy under my foot so I looked down into the dark and “AHHHHH!!!!” The light from the kitchen shone down on the dead mouse. There were bits of red grossness next to it and on my black flip-flop. My dad came to check on me. I had screamed pretty loudly.
“I stepped out and I squished it,” my voice was still panicky. “And blood came oozing out.” I got as far away from the garage as I could.
He inspected the dead mouse. “Actually, its brains oozed out.”
Gross, Pops. I didn’t need to know that.
My mom laughed at my fright. “Way to slay the mouse,” she praised.
I didn’t mean to kill the mouse. I suppose it had it coming, but honestly, I didn’t mean for my Arizona flip-flop to be the weapon to do it.