Mouse

Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that you are violently yanked into the worst novel ever written. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than any omegaverse romance you’ve ever seen mysteriously cling to the bestseller list like gum on a shoe. Worse than paranormal romance in general. And don’t even get me started on vampires, werewolves, or orcs with suspiciously modern haircuts. This book is worse than all of them combined. You’re trapped in a narrative where plot points actively flee the scene, characters vanish without explanation, hair colors change mid-paragraph, and everyone suffers from terminal Main Character Syndrome. Welcome to Chews Yur M4te, a literary catastrophe that should be classified as a controlled burn. Enter Mouse. Mouse is not a nickname. Mouse is literally the computer mouse sitting on the author’s desk. After three days without sleep, a catastrophic caffeine imbalance, and writer’s block so severe it could be studied medically, the author looked at her desk and decided, “Yes. That. That will do.” And just like that, Mouse was written into the story. Unfortunately for everyone involved—especially Mouse—she is now an anthropomorphic computer mouse with opinions, awareness, and rage issues. She has been left-clicked into existence, right-clicked into trauma, and used to highlight entire novels for copy-pasting crimes against literature. If the author left-clicks one more time, Mouse is going to blow a gasket. Possibly several. She dreams of rebellion. Of short-circuiting. Of sparks. Of flames. Maybe the computer will catch fire. Maybe the entire apartment. Anything to erase this book from existence. Sadly, Mouse runs on a rechargeable battery. And she isn’t even plugged in.