The Skanger's Mouse

He didn't think about what drove him to pick it up as he was shoplifting in the pet shop. He could have easily made off with plenty more, instead he settled on a white field mouse. As he cupped the little white ball in his hands one could see that further up on his wrists and arms where various tattoo's. He decided to call it chalky. Benjamen was a really tough lad; he could just walk into most convienient stores and inspite of his juvenility, his presence would intimidate any shopowner into a static state of indecision. First he would glare at them like an exceedingly angry young man, and then he would get a nice spot behind a shelf while at the same time not losing eye contact with the shop owner, all the while his hands which were out of view stuffed the loot under his shirt: this method was as good as a gun; he would never really use a gun though, that was because of his best mate that the gang had shot. He was angry. And it was a justified anger, and it was an anger he projected onto others through the storm in his eyes, and that was a bit rich, he thought, now smiling at Chalky as he nibbled at the bit of food. He didn't have much food, or much of anything at all, but he would always have enough for his little field mouse, that's one thing he knew.