Two Little Runaways ~ Ch 1

An idea that came to mind when I finished high school. Was originally going to be a short story and one-shot about one or two pages long on Fidget and Olivia running away together as social outcasts, but decided that it needed to be a little bit longer to get my point across. I used the same formula for my one-shot, Olivia Flaversham and Fidget Run Away, but only darker.

In the dark, dank sewer lived a peg legged bat named Fidget. He was the employee of Professor Ratigan. Poor Fidget was easily misunderstood. His work on Ratigan’s behalf was sorely overlooked for it never satisfied the rat.

The professor would slap him, try to feed him to his cat, Felicia (who was thankfully dead), blame him for his heart attacks, stuff him in the bottle, and lastly, tease him for little things. He DID make him do chores, but that punishment did not work.

…

One night, Fidget asked Ratigan’s other henchmen if he could play chess with them. “Guys, can I play chess with you?” he asked.

“Why, certainly,” the portly mouse in the red suit replied.

“You’re more than welcome to sit by us,” the mouse in the purple striped shirt agreed.

Fidget sat with them and glanced at the lizard, who sat with the mice.

“Hi, Fidget,” the lizard said, “I’m different, too.” His name was Bill.

This made Fidget smile. It was rare that anyone, including Ratigan’s employees can sometimes show kindness and empathy.

“Ready to play?” the striped shirt mouse asked.

Fidget nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“If you don’t know how to play chess, we’ll be sure to help you,” the red suit mouse said and they started to play. The bat was having fun until he heard a small whisper from a brawny mouse.
“They’ll help him, alright, by taking him to the asylum.”

Fidget turned to glare at the offender for his threated, but shifted his focus on the game.

“Fidget, is something troubling you?” the stout mouse in red asked.

“Nope, I just have a stomach ache,” Fidget fibbed.

“No need to lie to us, Fidget,” the skinny mouse assured him. “We can handle the truth.”

“Yeah, the truth!” Bill chimed in.

Fidget considered this. He was honest most of the time. Did he have to lie and say that everything was okay? Not this time.

“Okay,” Fidget finally said. The truth had to come out somehow. “One mouse said you’ll take me to an asylum.”

“Oh, no, Fidget, we’ll never do that,” the thin mouse pointed out.

Fidget began to lose his temper. “You are all the same!”

“No, we’re different,” the fat mouse tried to say.

“Yeah, right!” Fidget pounded his fist on the table. “I’m going!” He got out of his seat and when he was about to leave the room, a brawny mouse – the same one who said he should go to an asylum. “Hey, punk, where ya going?”

“Nowhere,” Fidget frowned and was hoisted up by the mouse who threatened him. Just as he was about to crush the little bat’s body, Fidget bit the strong mouse’s hand.

“Ow!” the mouse shrieked. “I’m telling the boss!”

“Go ahead, tattletale!” Fidget snapped, “That was called self-defense!”

“Good work, Fidget,” one of the nice mice of the gang said.

Fidget turned to say, “Really? Thanks!”

“And what do we say about snitches?” Bill asked.

“Snitches get stitches!” they chanted.

…

Meanwhile, Ratigan was furious. Fidget was in trouble for defending himself, which was “the right thing”.

“Fidget, I can’t believe how vicious you’ve become!” Ratigan bellowed.

“I was defending myself!” Fidget corrected defiantly.

“He was right about the fact that you need to go to an asylum to straighten you out, my boy!”

“Being a bat is who I am! Maybe it’s time you start accepting that you’re a rat?!”

Shocked and angry, Ratigan slapped him.

It may’ve hurt Fidget, but he was mad.

“Go to your room,” Ratigan commanded, but Fidget disobeyed by stubbornly facing away and lifted up his pouty expression.

“Fidget, I said…” Ratigan put both of his hands on the defiant bat’s shoulders.

Feeling the rat’s hands, Fidget shouted, “I hate you! I hate you!” Then he started hitting and yelling at Ratigan every time he tried punishing him. Every time Ratigan told him what to do and what not to do, he’d shout. Every time Ratigan touched him, he’d punch, kick, throw things, and bite him. That was when Fidget realized that was what minions do whenever their bosses punish them too often and severely.

The three minions of Ratigan were the same ones who treated Fidget with respect and taught him how to play chess, suggested that they can all take Fidget to a therapist to be treated for maltreatment. Even Ratigan agreed to take him there. Maybe the therapists will listen to Fidget’s side of the story.

…

Ratigan and his gang took Fidget to visit a nice male therapist. He may be a mouse, but he didn’t mind the company of rats and bats.

“May I speak to you in private, young man?” the mouse asked Fidget.

“Sure, sir,” Fidget replied and followed him to his office.

“What is your name?” his therapist asked.

“Fidget.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because Ratigan, my boss, who I work for made me and all of his abuse.”

“What did he do?”

“He nearly killed me by feeding me to the cat. He hit me. He put me in the bottle. He accused me of giving him heart attacks and mocked me for everything I do.”

“That’s horrible!” the therapist exclaimed, shocked over his patient’s speech, then calmed himself.

“I think I know why he abused you, Fidget.”

Fidget sat down, interested in what this mouse was going to say next.

“I believe it’s because he is a powerful sociopath, who uses fear to get your attention in order for you to do what he says, which tells me in your word that you are brainwashed and malnourished physically and emotionally. Is that correct?”

Fidget slowly nodded. How was this doctor going to solve the problem?

“Let’s go over to Ratigan and your friends talk about this, okay?”

“Wait! Ratigan gets defensive!” Fidget warned.

The therapist glanced over at him and said, “I’ve dealt with dangerous criminals before and I contacted the police to put them away.”

When they came back into the room, the mouse told Ratigan and his gang what he knew about Fidget.

Ratigan was enraged. “Lies!” he yelled at the mouse, who believed the bat he had spoken to. “Do you believe this little liar?”

“I don’t think he is, Professor,” the therapist answered. “He sounded sincere. Can’t you see how malnourished he looks?! From the looks of it, you underfed him.”

“But we nursed him back to health,” Bill the lizard finished, in which the red suited and striped shirt mice agreed to.

Ratigan was still furious and took him to other therapists rather than that mouse. Every therapist said the same thing. His results were false, much to Fidget’s relief!

The bat was glad that his therapists found out what was wrong with him and that things went his way. Now, he hoped things work better for him in the future.

…

The next day, Fidget ran away, but the rat didn’t care what would happen to him. He didn’t care if he died or got caught by bandits.

“That’s terrific! That troublemaker ran away!” Ratigan ranted. “I can’t take having him anymore, anyway! I can’t handle bratty, stupid henchmen like him! He takes after his parents, not me!”

…

Fidget, now safely far from Ratigan’s sewer, got upset and cried. He wanted to be treated better as long as his first step was to give respect, then earn it. It was hard leaving the lair, but Fidget knew it’ll get better once he got used to it.

He recalled a time when he and Basil were once friends. He tried to be nice to him on how to treat kids and non-mice better until Basil started putting him down, claiming that he, like all bats belong to the devil. That was when Fidget decided that he didn’t need him anymore and he disagreed with how Basil treated children. Fidget knew Basil (like Ratigan) thought he was stupid, as well, but that didn’t bother him anymore. All Fidget needed now was a real friend to talk to.