"Hamster" by Sarah Li

The little hamster ran and ran, the wheels turning and churning and creaking like frogs. The little hamster ran, and it thought about the things that it does. The little hamster ran, and thought about the things that lie. Thought about if it was lying.
But then a hand came and plucked the little hamster out of its wheel. “Wait!” The little hamster cried. “I have long yet to go!” as it squirmed in the hold.
The hand did not let the little hamster go. The hand said it was tired, that the little hamster was making it sad. So the little hamster could not run in its wheel.
The little hamster chewed on some seeds, a slight saltiness teasing at a story. It ate in silence to relieve its hunger, beige sunflower seeds popping as they cracked. The little hamster ate, and felt and thought about the things it would do.
But then a hand came and swept away its seeds. “Wait!” The little hamster cried. “I am not done with my food!” and chased after the pile.
The hand did not bring back the seeds. The hand said it wanted tastier things, like chocolate and french fries. So the little hamster ate that, instead.
The little hamster studied its work. It tore cardboard to make bedding, brought little pellets to hoard in a pile. The little hamster prodded and tussled, testing different roads leading to the same little town. The little hamster was building a scheme.
But then a hand came and threw at the little hamster a ball. “Wait!” The little hamster cried. “I must complete my work!” and nudged the ball away.
The hand did not let the little hamster work. The hand said it was burnt out, that it could work no longer. So the little hamster played ball instead, and wished it were building.
The little hamster sat in silence, contemplating the ways of men. It measured and thought and compared its deeds, weighing them upon a scale that shone of tarnished gold. It sought the truth of matters, the elusive right and wrong of being.
But then a hand came and toppled its scale, bringing havoc in the path of its wrath. “Wait!” The little hamster cried. “I was not wronged!” and clung to the scale.
The hand did not listen to the little hamster’s words. The hand said it was angry and vengeful, that the little hamster must fight. So the little hamster sighed and screamed in rage.
One day, the hand came to the little hamster and asked, “Why do you listen?” All clammy and cold. “Why do you obey me when you have no duty?”
The little hamster looked up and explained with no mirth, “for there is no difference between a hamster and a hand. I am a hamster because I am a hamster, and you are a hand because you are a hand. If you were a hamster and I were a hand, nought would change but semantics and words.”
The hand curled back in surprise, for the little hamster was right. The hamster had no feet, no mouth nor a head. The hand had no fingers, no knuckles nor nails. The hamster and hand were only ideas adrift, clinging to each other in sweet dichotomous contrast.
“But if we are one and the same, then who was the prisoner and who was the cage?”
“Look outside,” the little hamster commanded. For outside was a pulsing being that breathed and moved on the world’s accord. “We were born as it was born, and we will die as it will die. We flit to its whimsy and it dances to ours.” The little hamster returned to its wheel, and began again its journey to nowhere. “In the end, neither of us will ever be free.”
Excerpt: Sarah Li writes about a hamster and a hand.