|Charles, the two of us need look no more
Author: Mrs Rosa Riddle PM
This is the tragic story of Benito Vandort-Smith Ben for short , Mr Bobinsky's most talented circus mouse. A story of loss and passion. A song-fic using Michael Jackson's 'Ben'. Contains MOUSE SLASH gay mice , don't take it too seriously and please R&R.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Romance - Words: 910 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 07-13-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7176278
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Authors note: This is a weird mix between Coraline and the Michael Jackson song, Ben. I, obviously, am just a humble fan-girl, and I do not own Coraline or Michael Jackson's song in any way,shape or form. Oh, and I know that the song 'Ben' is actually about a rat and not a mouse, but try and over look it :)
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Hello there, how do you do? My name is Benito Vandort-Smith, but my friends call me 'Ben' for short. I am 5 years of age, and the star of Mr Bobinsky's show, 'The Jumping Mice Circus'. Now, if you think that because I am a mouse my story will be entertaining, you are very much mistaken. My tale, (not the one attached to my ass, that is spelt with an 'I'), is one of tragedy and passion, rather like Romeo & Juliet, apart from the fact that it is not in Shakespearian, and I am not a human.
Let me start from the beginning, when I was born. I was born in a small, rural area of Romania. It was an area filled with pain and poverty, the sewers were full up but many families could not find kitchens or bins to live in, so they had to make do with...cardboard boxes. It still breaks my heart today, when I think of the dreadful conditions that I was forced to live in, through no fault of my own. When I have children, I will never raise them in such dreadful conditions, although it is unlikely that I will ever have kids, as I am gay, and mice cannot adopt or obtain surrogate mothers (I found out this hard truth through something called 'yahoo answers', I don't know if you will have heard of it).
"Ben, the two of us need look no more
We both found what we were looking for
With a friend to call my own
I'll never be alone
And you, my friend, will see
You've got a friend in me
(you've got a friend in me)"
This is the song that my husband serenaded me with, when we first met. Mice are very romantic creatures, we do not need to woo our mate with flowers and chocolates like humans do, we use tender words and loved filled gestures, impulsive acts of passion and declarations of sweet, emotion-filled love.
My husband, who's name was Charles, was my one-true-love, my hearts desire, my soul-mate, my warmth on a chilling, winters night, my cold on a hot, sweaty day, my butter for my bread, my sausage for my mash, my fish for my chips. Oh, how I love my Charles, my sweet, fabulous husband.
But one fateful day, we were cruelly torn apart. If my Charles could serenade me now, I imagine he would sing, something along the lines of this -
"Ben, you're always running here and there
You feel you're not wanted anywhere
If you ever look behind
And don't like what you find
There's one thing you should know
You've got a place to go
(you've got a place to go)"
Well, I don't know if he would sing exactly that, those are just my feelings after all. I expect that you are wondering how we were separated? Well, I will tell you! One hot afternoon, my love and I were strolling paw-in-paw, down the peaceful, cobble-stone streets of Romania. We were innocently listening to the sweet,melodic birdsong and admiring the beautiful sunset, when suddenly a big,blue face loomed over us threateningly and rocked our world. The monster snarled something in a thick, Russian accent, and then suddenly made a fierce grab for us. My dear Charles managed to escape in time, but alas I did not, and that is why I am here in some westernised hell, playing a ridiculous little trumpet day after day. All shreds of my dignity and self-pride are gone now, especially when that slanted-faced git and blue-haired witch come up to smirk at me. Evil bastards, I am certain that they must see, they must see the pain in my eyes, how my choreography grows worse and worse as my heart slowly breaks.
Charles was not the only one that did the serenading, I too created a last part to our precious love song. It goes like this,
"I used to say "I" and "me"
Now it's "us", now it's "we"
I used to say "I" and "me"
Now it's "us", now it's "we"
Ben, most people would turn you away
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again
If they had a friend like Ben (or Charles)
(a friend) Like Ben (or Charles)
(like Ben, or Charles) Like Ben (or Charles)"
You see, Charles was much more to me than a mouse/husband, words cannot quite describe him. He was the monkey for my banana, the cone for my ice-cream, the salt for my pepper, the ketchup for my chips.
Oh Charles, if only I could sing to you, just one last time, but unfortunately I never will.
Goodbye, my love.