Ratón lives a maze. Every day, he twists through hedges, dodging heads that poke out at wrong turns, grueling red faces with saw blades for teeth. For what, he cannot fathom.
“Where to?” he asks the holey wedge of cheese on his manacle.
“Goal,” the charm responds. The GPS coordinates fly. Ratón sets off.
Snapping jaws, he conquers. Then come the pit falls.
“Where to?” he asks the charm when face-to-face with 10-meter pit.
“Goal,” answers the charm, offering no detour.
Ratón does not think. He trusts. He jumps. He falls.
There is a dull thump. Seconds later, “Goal reached.”
Author’s note: This story was imagined after considering how a person might feel being the rat in a maze, sacrificed for seemingly no cause.