Liberty, noun. (pl. -ties) - end bit

But I was not to be deterred, the sign was out there, and I was going to read it. Arthur's questions on what I could possibly hope to achieve fell on deaf ears. My mind was made up, and I left.

The road ahead was to be challenging; an epic journey in which I would cross the whole island, virtually. Although, I had no real reason to hurry, no life-threatening obstacle to overcome. It wasn't like my wife needed to heart transplant and I needed to collect it and be back before time runs out! But, I did feel a sense of urgency. An overwhelming sense of purpose had grabbed me, and was clinging on with some force, so I left as soon as possible. With my cling film bag full to the brim with crumbs and such, and triumphantly tossed over my shoulder, I made headway.

It was just after noon and the sun was strong. I sighed at my furry coat, as it efficiently kept in every darn ounce of heat. A wiser mouse, or less adventurous one, I'd like to think, may have put the mission off until a cooler, less busy time. But not I, I set off without a second thought.

I headed north, at first, then west past the statue. This was a grassy affair and even though the glaring heat was sure to demand the most from me, the day couldn't have been more beautiful. The tourists seemed to stray no further than the edge of the paths, and that was great as far as this mouse was concerned. No need to confront the humans until it was necessary. I made a mental note to keep to grassland for as long as possible.

But before long this simple wish had been refused. The path circumnavigated the statue, and because I was inside this circle, I was trapped. This was as far from my home as I had ever been. Beyond here, all I knew was vague directions, based on vague rumours. The midday hour had brought peak numbers to the area and the path looked impenetrable.

This was only the first sign of tourists and I was at a loss! Barely half an hour and it seemed I was beaten. I sat down and opened my bag, went for a bit of wholegrain bread and started to ponder my predicament.

But no sooner had I placed a stray nut back in my mouth when I heard a strange rustle, followed by a sound which can only be described as a slurp, of sorts. I turned around to be faced by a rosy cheeked, drooling Hector.

"What's that, a erm, a nut is it?" he said.

"This thing in my mouth? I replied.

"Hmm, any more? More . . . nuts?" His words were obscured by immense quantities of saliva.

Unsurprisingly, it turned out that that Hector had been following me since home, under the impression that I was out looking for food.

"Hector, have you even been beyond the path?"

"Ah, yes many times," said Hector to my surprise. "Much to eat on the other side, much food."

I explained to him that I needed to get across the path and if he helped me I would make it "worth his while". This was all he needed, and with a quick "c'mon!" he bounded off around the statue. Without having gone far we came to a tunnel with water flowing through it. Hector led me into the tunnel and after some time in darkness we emerged back into the glare of the afternoon, in a grassy expanse. This area was far more grassy than where I lived, and this appealed to the mouse in me. As promised, I gave Hector some of my food. I asked him if he had been any further out than this, to which he replied that he had not. The wary look in his eyes as he said this told me that he didn't intend to, so I left him munching away, and continued my journey.

But before long I was faced with another obstacle, or rather, obstacles - tables, chairs, and people. People carelessly bumping into each other, dropping coins, dropping sandwiches; people knocking over furniture as they scrambled around performing the activity they refer to as 'lunchtime'. Baby's were screaming, children were laughing, men were taking photos of their girlfriends against the backdrop of a huge blue-green woman.

I'm going to slip through unnoticed.

I could see the fabled sign of enlightenment, containing the hitherto illusive name of our island. But no more! No more will the clouds of mystery rain ignorance drops upon me. No more will I be imprisoned behind the walls of my own inexperience! The time hath come for awakening!

But I had to get to the sign, it was facing the other way, and this meant getting past these people. I was getting restless.

I ran.

Women screamed, kids screamed, men repressed their screams. I just kept on running, ignoring the rising chaos which was growing around me. Tables were being knocked over as I flew under them, running under the patron's legs. I had never run so fast! The adrenaline surged as all hell broke loose in the cafe garden. I ignored my mousely instincts as barely touched baguettes landed to my left and right. Food was the last thing on my mind as I raced across the concrete.

Then I came to an abrupt halt. But it was not the kind of halt that a wall might cause, no, this halt had a much more gravity induced feel to it. I was surrounded by darkness, but this soon subsided and I was again in harsh sunlight. Only now I could not move. I lay on my side, experiencing what seemed like emense pain, all over. And again, darkness crashed down on me, accompanied by a soundtrack of cracks.

The screaming had stopped, and I could hear various remarks of relief. The tourists were regaining their calm. As I looked straight out with my one working eye I saw a sign which read 'Liberty Island'.

Liberty. It was not a word I was familiar with.

END

That's not really the end, ...watch this space _____ eeeeee!

Liberty, noun. (pl. -ties) - bit 1

SOMETIMES, merely existing is not enough. It just simply isn't enough, and this is what I have found in my daily routine which, after giving myself a bit of time to actually sit back and look at it, is not all that it could be. What am I doing? I found myself asking, as I carelessly tucked into a bit of cheese that had been carelessly strewn on a nearby path by a careless tourist. And I failed to come up with a satisfying answer. This is what I do, isn't it, I scavenge the area for food disregarded by tourists, and only now have I come to realise the monotony of this way of life.

I rested my jaw and gazed across the harbour as I contemplated a day in the life of me, your humble narrator.

I wake up, usually alone, with a scrap of newsprint shielding me from the brisk morning. I find a shard of glass in which I can unearth some kind of reflection, and proceed to judge myself, to which a soundtrack of sighs accompanies.

Then I survey the surrounding area in search of food, and my lord is it scarce! I search high, I search low, I go to, I go fro, I look here, I look there, what to eat, I don't care. Suffice to say, I usually find something.

Then I read the lines under which I found my bed the previous night. I usually discard the New York Post and its lurid sensationalism, apart from the latest on the Knicks, for which the Post can't be beaten. On most days, the New York Times is the choice:

A spokesman for the New York Public Library said Mr. Ferriero was not available to comment this afternoon. Leaving his current position would mean an almost certain pay cut. In 2005, . . .

A tear in the paper often prevents further reading; alas, not much print is needed to cover a small being such as myself, and I rarely gain any substantial knowledge into any story. Still, it gives me something to do as I have breakfast.

From then on my day can be summed up in one word - food - or rather, the pursuit of food. This activity, combined with an appreciation of the view out there across the water to the unknown everything which lays beyond the island on which I live, is my life.

So, as I sat on the grey/white stone ridge one pleasant morn, my cheese momentarily put to one side, I took a little bit of stock. Beyond the grass lay the steep cliff falling down to the rocks which would disappear under the water, and then reappear. Cruise liners drifted past, led by tugboats, to drop off hundreds of people who will pass me by over the next few days.

Yes, I am proud of my home. But, I am careful not to show off. This is in part because of my humble nature, for we are a humble kind, and in part due to the fact that I'm sure I've noticed people avoiding me, maybe even repulsed by me. What am I, a rat? Most certainly not! I am, and I must compose myself for this proud moment - ahem - I am Gilbert, the Mouse. No need to bow, I'll just give you a few moments to take that in.

So, call me crazy, but I have detected the quite obvious stench of poison in the area. Can you believe it! How careless, I say. How obscure! Makes me wonder how welcome I am on this island I think of as my home.

And, while I'm complaining, I may as well voice my concern about the sanitary conditions of the area. Soon after the sun rises various maintenance people come out and all that is good in this area is taken away. Breadcrumbs - swept away, apple cores - swept away, dead seagull - it all goes. all to benefit tourists and bring in this cash, cash, cash that everyone thinks so highly of. All the while, the local residents, such as myself, who, I might add, were here first, have to live in completely unsatisfactory living conditions. Positively pristine, it is around here! I tell you, if one more litter bin appears in my neighbourhood I'm moving.

No, I don't mean that, that's too drastic, I take it back. For this is my home, and any mouse the world over would be envious of such an abode, of this I am convinced.

It was during one of these moments of reflection when I decided that maybe instead of following my nose, I'd will see where my intrigue leads. According to my sundial (fashioned out of a discarded paper plate and an ice cream cone) it was going on for 10:30 AM, and the place was starting to get busy.

I decided to enjoy a contemplative stroll around the neighbourhood and set off with a small bag made from cling film containing a few breadcrumbs. Before long I came across one of my neighbours, Hector. I wondered if he'd ever thought about his place in this world.

"Hey, Hect . . . "

"Seen any food? Im starving."

"Um. . . no. Hey, I was wondering what you thought about . . . "

"Sorry, gotta go find some food, " he said licking his lips, unable to keep still. He scurried off in the direction I had come from. You'd think he'd never eaten before in his life, he was so eager. For Hector, nothing was further from the truth.

I looked back at him as he waddled off across the grass, his tail leaping uncontrollably as his big rear end bounded from side to side. He could do with a diet, I thought. There's a bit of cucumber back there, he's just going to ignore it, never satisfied with anything less than a bucket of chicken. I continued onwards.

As I rounded the corner I realised I was close to another neighbour's home. I wandered in to find Arthur nibbling on a biscuit. Food does seem to be of overwhelming concern to us, I thought.

"Hello!" said Arthur, upon noticing my arrival.

"Hi, Arthur," I replied. "How are you?"

"Quite well, good friend, quite well. The Knick's are up, I see."

"Indeed they are," I said, being reminded of that other primal concern we share, maybe it's not all food.

"Arthur, have you ever thought about the meaning of life?"

"Oh Gilbert, you and your needless pondering." Arthur replied with a shake of the head. "What is it this time? Did a baby point and laugh at you? Did a bigger mouse steal a chicken nugget from you? You need more productive ways of dealing with these little, um . . . happenings than to keep coming round here questioning the meaning of life." He chuckled to himself and I rolled my eyes; Arthur was always like this. He liked to think himself wise, and was always happy to attempt to put someone in their place, albeit without the slightest hint of disdain, never patronising. For him, in my opinion, it was a defence mechanism.

Arthur had always led a somewhat sheltered life. Neither of us have been further our own neighbourhood, but Arthur has never been further than 5 feet from his 'front door' (no more than a small rock). Whenever I would broach the subject of travelling further afield he'd defend his reluctance with phrases like "Pah! Utter tosh. I have everything I need right here, no need to wander afar." This overtly self-assured declaration only brings to light the obviousness of the real answer, that he is afraid.

"No, Arthur," I continued. "I was just thinking about how we live so instinctively, you know? We only really think about food, there must be something more."

"Living in a dreamworld, you are, Gilbert," said Arthur. "Come on, have some of this biscuit."

"That's exactly what I mean! All that matters now is that biscuit, and I'm strangely compelled to accept your delightful offer, thank you."

After I had succumbed to the lure of that fine biscuit, I got back to the issue at hand. I asked Arthur whether he knew the name of the island we lived on. No, he replied, neither is it of concern to me. Well, I'm going to find out, I told him. Round the other side of the island is a sign, near where the boats came in, and thats where I am going today.

"But you can't!" Arthur was horrified. "The tourists! There's tourists!"

"I know," I replied with a nod, intending to come across all heroic and brave.

"You're a fool, Gilbert, a fool!"

Gems Splattered

An ode to ye. Ye whoeth spout bullshit whilst a passing notepad passes not so passively, Ye whoeth in ever allusive shame let thy's tounge remain freed from thy's brain. Ye whoeth is everyone, without restriction.

"Fall down a big hole"

"Are you going to meet the teacher tonight?"

"I dont work here"

"You ain't got hardly any rizlas have you?"

"Did I do that?"

"Yes, I'll certainly need the hardback one."

"Put it in the fridge when you get home."

"Richard 323, Richard 333."

Presents

i don't have any presence,

i don't have any presents,

i don't have any presence,

i don't have any presents,

if I had presence,

i would get presents,

but i don't have any presence,

so i dont get presents,

so i don't have any presents.

id ont have anypreence

i dont have sny presents

i dot hve any presence

i dont have anypresents

i wanr presence

i want [resents

i want presents

i want prstntes

i wat prsece

i want presence.

Of Chief Concern to Fyodor.

All the room was silent.

And then.

"Why isn't he reading me?" said a frustrated voice which emanated from the Dostoevsky novel sitting on the bed.

More silence.

"Its 10:30 in the morning!" the voice continued, somewhat panic-stricken. "The time for fine literature is upon us! Let us read, read I say!"

An impatient sigh came from the other side of the bedroom.

"I utterly fail to understand it," the hefty novel carried on. "He reads a chapter every morning. It really is quite despairing."

"He was out all night," observed the cheap lamp in the corner in a gossip-soaked tone of smugness.

"How do you know?" replied the book.

"He's got a girlfriend," the lamp added.

More silence swept the room, carrying an air of contemplation.

"Preposterous," said the book, dismissively, and went on to mumble something which was inaudible.

"Its true," said the lamp, revealing yet more patronising smugness.

"Who cares?" said the pillow. "Makes a nice change, says I."

"That's only 'cause you hate being crushed!" teased the bedside table.

"Can you blame me?" replied the pillow.

"Well, I have an interest in the well-being of this young man, nay, a responsibility!" the Dostoevsky remarked. And in an anguished tone: "But, oh me! He's given up, already! One hundred and ten pages in. Heedlessly neglected once again."

Almost a minute went by before the clock made a contribution, with all the good intentions of an old friend:

"Come on, book, you haven't been neglected, he'll read you when he gets back. He's got a girlfriend, you know what its like."

"Are we talking about the same person?!" replied the book, defiantly. "I tell you, my ticking friend, he has NOT got a girlfriend. It is not within his capabilities."

"He has," said the all-knowing lamp.

"Pah!" retorted the novel, uncharacteristically lacking its erudite phraseology, as if too vexed to make the effort.

"Yeah, why do you think we've been washed recently?" said the sheets, rhetorically. A murmur of acceptance followed, echoed round the room by agreeable furniture. "And why do you think he's been playing more guitar?"

"This is true." said the guitar, "I am pretty impressive."

"Well he could impress her with his knowledge of Dostoevsky, no?"

"Oh shut up, book!" said the chair, "I've just about had enough of you rambling on."

"Yeah," chipped in the bookcase. "Spare a thought for all the books who aren't getting any attention." A chorus of grunts came from the abandoned books on the bookcase.

"He hasn't even read the back of me!" screamed the hysterical One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.

"Ssssshhhh!" sssshed the lamp, and all was silent again.

A young man came though the door and flung his keys on the bed. His hair was a mess.

ssspplltrd gems...

another collection of (in)consequential utterances

"Fuck off! Stop ringing me all the fucking time! I'll ring you, alright?! Fuck off!"

"thats far enough!"

"You're a wierd one."

"It was usually when one team was being absolutely battered by the other team."

"just ripped the head off a bat."

"Oi, fatty! Go on a diet!"

splattered gems...

more exquisite semi-sentences caught in the frail net of an open ear

"its rubbish isnt it really."

"its hard to explain, but because i've got more..."

"where's my Spongebob?"

"I wouldnt mind if it was 6, 6:30."

"The problem with London is that you feel self-conscious about shopping."

"There might be a big queue anyway"

"All I know is that in devon there are no roads."

"I just cant be arsed to go up on the escalator."

"to increase record sales, ey?"