The final round for NYC Midnight Microfiction had an open genre (thank GOD). Our story had to include, “releasing an animal from a trap” and the word, “sense.” They allow the word to be used in different tense, so I’m safe here.
The sun was dying. Oren shielded himself with his white robe and made his way from the caves toward the dehydrated forest. He felt the heat from the too-large orb in the burning sky and wondered if sunsets were ever real.
Trapping was the fading hope of the starving hordes of orphans whose parents fought in the Endless War. Children were the albatross around the neck of humankind where once they harbored the light of hope.
Oren walked the maze of traps containing rodents in various stages of death and misery. He collected the dead and released the living, his bargain with the fates. He sipped from his canteen and sensed three swallows remaining. It wasn’t enough.
He thought of Maple, who had found Oren hiding near the caverns years before. She taught Oren how to trap until he could do it for himself. He remembered how her face changed from pride to relief that first time. Maple disappeared into the world as the eldest of them eventually did, replaced by younger arrivals.
The last trap held a thrashing squirrel, the steel clamped on its tail. The creature was apoplectic in its attempts to release itself. Oren kneeled and gently freed the animal. He smiled as it frantically darted away.
He looked back toward the caves, then toward the unburdened world beyond. He heard thirsty cries calling him. A gust of wind kicked up and carried his long gray hair behind him. Oren walked home, towards hope, once again.