text: There were a few horse stalls and a hay loft high above the saw dust floor. The old barn was a place to store the tractor out of the rain. Maybe for the farmer, because beneath the surface, there was an entire universe of life and activity with mice, racoons, squirrels, bugs of all kinds, and even a family of foxes - all living lives of their own. Each with their own passions, interests, fears, and troubles. Thomlinson was a small mouse for his age. This is something he was reminded of daily on his walk to the school box. But his dreams were very big. He loved to listen to his grandmouse tell stories of adventure and treasure, wild lands, and wild creatures. Thomlinson would often find himself daydreaming of himself as a character in these stories, battling the forces of evil and developing new inventions to help the world. His teacher would slap her long iron nail on his desk with a whack, tearing him from his lofty tasks. At home, Thomlinson and his family lived very poor lives. There was only his mother there to provide for him, and she was ill most of the time. While many of his classmates slept on beds made of wool and linen, his was a matchbox with straw and pebbles. It hurt his mothers heart that she could not do more for her son. Their meals were small and bland, mostly left over seed shells from where the birds dropped their feed with the occasional nugget of nutrican. Together, Thomlinson, his grandmouse, and his mother lived day by day with the hope that one day, they would have a better life. One day, Thomlinson was walking to his school box when he noticed something. The mice community took great strides to walk around a big metal horse trough that held water. It was so large that it looked quite a long time for a small mouse to walk around it to get to the other side, which was a short distance but for the trough’s length. Thomlinson himself was often annoyed at the walk because the distance from one side to the other was so short. If there was a way to cross the trough, over it, or under it, or through it somehow, then it would save everyone a lot of trouble in their travels around the barn. This thought stuck in his mind and grew like a seed. He began cutting fallen leaves into perfect rectangles to write on, before crumbling them and starting again. Finally, after weeks of sketching, he had it. He would dig a tunnel under the trough so people could pass under it instead of making the long walk around. Excited, he took his sketch to his mother to show her. She looked at the drawing, squinted, and looked sad. She could not understand why he was toying with this nonsense when he had school work to do. If he worked hard, he could graduate and become a worker mouse, tearing corn hulls off at the plant in the fall, and cracking young acorns in the spring. Then they could afford to move into a better spot with wool beds. This idea, she said, would cost too much money and they did not have the proper insurance or permission from the elder mouse counsel for such a project. Unphased, he took his drawing to his grandmouse, who studied the drawing carefully. He told Thomlinson that this was possible, and a good idea. He told Thomlinson he wished he had the courage to propose something like that when he was younger, but he did know how it was done. Grandmouse had dug many tunnels, but never one that was his idea. He told Thomlinson to ask for a spot on the agenda for the next mouse counsel meeting, present the drawing, and ask for permission to dig. That is exactly what Thomlinson did. On the day of the meeting Thomlinson was the most nervous he had ever been in his life. He was shaking and doubting himself. Before he could sneak out the backdoor, they called his name to step up and speak. He hurried to the front of the group, and made his presentation. He told them it would turn a 15-minute walk into a 1-minute walk, which over the course of a year, could save thousands upon thousands of hours in travel time and increase productivity for the entire mouse population. Stunned and wide-eyed, the counsel unanimously agreed to grant permission for the project to Thomlinson, under the condition that he get proper supervision, and he maintain his studies in school. Grandmouse stepped up, placed his paw on Thomlinson’s shoulder, and guaranteed his expert supervision of the project. He bent down and whispered to Thomlinson, “Insurance is cheap,” as he winked. Each day after classes ended, Thomlinson ran home to put on his hard hat and go out to the tunnel site with his grandmouse. Together, they dug and dug, day after day. The piles of dirt mounded up higher and higher as they made their progress. Until one day, the tunnel was complete. The whole community gathered for the grand opening of the Thomlinson Tunnel. They posed for a photo, they made the front page of the Mouse Times, and then it was time for the big event. Walking together, Grandmouse and Thomlinson led a parade of mice, accompanied by a lively marching band and flag twirlers, through the tunnel for the very first time. Thomlinson and grandmouse had put a lot of their time and effort into the tunnel, and the counsel allowed them to keep half of the toll to use the tunnel, which was not much per mouse. Thomlinson did not expect to get rich off of the project, he was just excited to see some advancement in his local community. However, over the course of the next month, the tunnel saw more traffic than anticipated because of the amazing time savings. Even the squirrels were paying to use the tunnel. One evening, there was a knock at the door, it was the Mail Mouse, and he had a check for Thomlinson. As soon as he saw the envelope, he knew it was the first payment of their share of the tunnel fees. He rushed to his Grandmouse sitting by the fire, waiving the check in the air. When grandmouse saw how much money it was, he fell backwards in his chair, knocking over the nightstand table. It was more money than they were able to scrape together in two-years. They called in Mother Mouse and with their laughter and cheer they all hugged, cried, and dreamed. The very next day they moved into a much nicer place. Wool beds, good linens, and furniture. Everything was great until one day, Mother Mouse saw a new piece of furniture. A new drawing desk, and at it, was Thomlinson sketching away. She could not understand why he was there sketching a new idea, when they had such a grand thing going with the Thomlinson Tunnel. Why wasn’t he satisfied? They had never had so much. Never had such grand beds. She questioned if Thomlinson was being selfish and greedy. One day, as he went through the tunnel to get to the school box, he met a mouse who was struggling to move. He was so thirsty he was on death’s door. Thomlinson rushed to the entrance to find water, but the nearest water was all the way across the barn under the rain spout, which would sometimes be dry for days and weeks. He was able to find the water and get back to the thirst mouse before anything bad happened. But he could not stop thinking about the water problem. The trough above the tunnel was full of water year round, but it was so high up, there was no way to get any, and many mice had fallen into the trough and drowned. The community had abandoned the idea of getting water from the trough. Thomlinson thought about this for days until one day he saw his grandmouse drinking some milk from a grass straw. The straw was so simple, apply pressure to the straw and the milk came right up from the cup to the lips. What if this worked in the reverse he thought? He imagined a long straw in the trough coming down to the ground where everyone could just take a sip. It took several weeks, but Thomlinson found a long rubber line under an old truck, likely an old vacuum line, and scurried it to his workshop. They cleaned it, did a pressure test, and he described the idea to his grandmouse. Again, they went to the counsel, explained the problem and their proposed solution, and got permission to proceed. It was a perilous task to get the line up the side of the trough and into the water above, but within days, they had done it. The line ran from the top down to the bottom where the end of the line was built into a rock wall for access. There was no water coming through and many of the local mice laughed and claimed it was all a failed experiment. Thomlinson knew he just needed pressure to pull the water through the line. There was still a crowd from watching the final stones being placed, he asked for 10 volunteers. They all got in a line and Thomlinson demonstrated their task. Thomlinson placed his mouse lips on the line and sucked as much air out of the line as he could and capped the line with his paw. He asked the next person in line to do the same and repeat. Before the last person even had their turn, water burst from the line and there was an eruption of cheers and celebration. They plugged the line with a wooden stopper, and water was available at any moment from that day forward. They dubbed the new water source the Thomlinson Tap. This time, the water was free to the public, and Thomlinson received a payment each month from the community from their community funds. The family was able to move into the barn loft. Thomlinson was not picked on at school anymore, and he had lots of new friends. He was constantly asked to dine with important mice in the community and for his help on various projects. All was well for a bit, until Mother Mouse became upset. She found Thomlinson at the drawing desk. She could not understand why he would risk their finances, their security, and their sanity on a new idea when their old ideas were fine. Thomlinson wanted to do more, see more, and be more, in a way she did not understand. Thomlinson had heard about other barns. Not only hay barns, but entire corn barns, barns for cows, barns for sheep and pigs, milk barns, sunflower seed barns, so much more to see and so many problems waiting to be solved. Mother mouse said he was being foolish. They had all they could ever want right there. They went from matchbox beds to the barn loft suites, from beggar meals, to the finest food in all of the old barn. They had esteem, they had riches, why could Thomlinson not just look around and smell the roses and be glad for what he had. Thomlinson laid down his pencil. He took his bags, clothes, and a few belongings and headed for the door. He was going to go see the world, and see what he could do in it. Mother Mouse begged him to stay and just be happy there. Tears rolled down his face, he set the bags down, and went back inside. That winter, the barn burned down, and everyone died. Thomlinson was just another dead mouse in an old fucking barn.