Nicholas Ridley and the Nursery Rhyme

“I don’t want to be here.  I really don’t.  You probably are wondering why in the world I would sit here talking to myself in the mirror, but I’ve been here for…longer than most.   Honestly, it has grown lonely up here.   I have a great view of the yard, but I do miss it actually being able to run around like the others not have a care in the world.   I still wish the wish that I was the little lion man running about.  Perhaps if I was as large as he I wouldn’t have gotten myself stuck up here.”

The well dressed mouse turned away from the mirror and walked over to his desk, an old matchbook opened up with with two of the matches turned on up as it’s legs, and the unfolded cover holding up the other side. The morning sun pushed through the vent and bounced off the mirror enough to give the attic a warm glow.   He pushed aside the thimble and a maple colored liquid splashed out.  He looked curiously at the small mess he made, and and then picked up a shaving of lead and began to write.

I have made the most of it…I have, but I am tired of chewing through cables and luggage, and I can’t stand going to the far side of the house.  I end up spending the rest of the day picking what feels like porcupine quills out of my toes from the pink sea foam.

My friends, well…they were my neighbors first, but anyway…they live next door at number 324 and I may have let it slip that people used to call me Nicholas.   Soon after that the rumors started and I tried to ignore them, and laugh it off, and pretend they were all crazy.   But the story grew, and so did my love for the liquid in my thimble that keeps me chained something that happened so long ago.

“No one names their child Nicholas!” one friend said.

“For a mouse, don’t be ridiculous!” said another.

The one that hurt the most was from my neighbor’s in 324.  They said, “I’d rather have my tail cut off than be named Nicholas.”

Pretty much from that day forward I have stayed up here.  At number 326.


Hi.  My name is Nicholas Ridley and I’d like to tell you how I got here.   I’m sure you’ve heard some version of this story before, but not quite like this.    And not ever from me.   Before I begin, there is something you need to know.  No matter what you hear and no matter what you think of me when I am done, know this: my best friends in the whole wide world were Hugh Latimer and Thomas Cramner.   And yes, together, we were the three blind mice.


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