The sick mouse collapses to the ground, his arms wrapped around his torso. He moans. Black fluid drops from his mouth, from his nose, from the corners of his eyes. The figure stands over him, motionless, dispassionate.
“You don’t look well, little mouse. Do you regret your decisions?”
The mouse just writhes in agony on the floor. After a few moments, the bedroom door visibly jumps as someone knocks on it.
“[REDACTED]? Are you okay? I can hear you in there! What’s wrong?”
This is, of course, [REDACTED]. It’s worth noting that her presence here is no more anachronistic than the sick mouse’s. After all, [REDACTED] created both characters contemporaneously and they were featured together in the earliest shorts.
Both the mouse and the figure’s attention snaps to the door. A look of panic passes over the mouse’s face. “Oh, no! That’s [REDACTED]! I’ve got to get ready for our date!” The mouse pushes himself up off the ground, and staggers over towards a sink in the corner of the room. It turns on the faucet and splashes water on its face. The figure, meanwhile, turns itself insubstantial once more.
“[REDACTED]? [REDACTED], I’m coming in!”
“Just a minute!”
The mouse wipes its face with a towel. It smiles into the mirror above the sink, looking tired but presentable. “Okay, I’m com–”
The mouse vomits black fluid into the sink unceasingly. The sink slowly fills up, then the black fluid spills over the sides, and finally the mouse collapses facedown into the fluid. [REDACTED] pounds on the door. The figure’s attention shifts slowly back and forth from the door to the sick mouse. Finally, the door gives way and [REDACTED] bursts into the room.
“[REDACTED]? [REDACTED], what’s wrong?”
The sick mouse is facedown in the the sink. His tail twitches, once, twice, then goes still. [REDACTED] gasps in horror and runs over to the sick mouse. She pulls him out of the sink, and he stands for a moment before falling onto his face. “[REDACTED]? [REDACTED], talk to me!” She holds him, weeping.
The sick mouse’s tail twitches. Once. Twice. He leaps to his feet, grabs [REDACTED], and forces her head into the black fluid. She flails wildly, her tail twitching in terror, her hands beating uselessly against the sick mouse. Within thirty seconds, her struggles have grown weak. Within a minute, they have ceased completely. The sick mouse lets her go. She stays where she is, head and upper torso submerged in the thick black fluid.
The sick mouse turns to face outwards, his face as dark and featureless as the figure’s. The figure turns substantial once more and glides over to the sick mouse and pats it on the head. The sick mouse does not react.
“Well done, little mouse. The suffering in this world is constant. It never changes. Never.”