Doubt I'll win any contests with this one, but hey, nothing wrong with something short, sweet and silly from time to time, even by my standards.

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A pallid silence had fallen over the Fitzgibbons farm. Mrs.Brisby held her ears up to listen, but all she could hear was the scuffling of her own tiny paws along the upturned garden soil. The thought of dashing into the thick brushes of fallen stalks popped in and out at intervals. After all, such silence would have meant that Dragon was on the prowl. But again, so hushed and still was the mounds of forgotten husks upturned roots that not even that monster of a cat could have sneaked up on her. Time had been when even silence of this sort would have sent the widow mouse running for home with whatever she had in her paws, in this case some kernels of still-fresh corn and peas, but Brisby held her head high and continued her foraging patrol. Even barring the life-altering journey she had to save her son’s life with help from the rats who once lived in the rose bush, she wasn’t going to pass up a chance to grab a few extra morsels of food to keep her family secure.

Still, the silence around Brisby was as puzzling as it was crushing; It was nowhere near Moving Day, the farmer and sons had only just harvested last week and there had been no frost to speak of to necessitate the plow, and while Dragon had been more active these past months, a factor made thanks to the Rats’ absence, the certainty with which Jeremy the crow stated the beast was dug in atop the lofts of the barn meant no one should have feared him eating them.

But in fact, the only other animal Brisby had seen or heard all morning was Auntie Shrew, who had come to the Brisby household in a hushed fervor, her arms shivering as if she walked in from a blizzard and her eyes jerking around, barely softening when she saw the four children in the living room.

“Brisby, get your family out! I warn you, the end of days has come! Horrors! Horrible times have come!”

That was all Brisby could get out of the woman before she dashed off, not even turning back to pick up her scarf, which had fallen from her neck in her rambling jitters.

It was in investigating this rather odd behavior that Brisby had come outside. And, smelling no poison on the fallen grains and vegetables and seeing no reason why they should be wasted, Brisby had contented herself with gathering as she continued to search for this ‘end of days’ catastrophe, and perhaps dispel everyone’s fears by finding out what it really was.

In the shade of a snapped corn leaf, Brisby held her ears aloft one last time.

Still nothing, not a sound.

‘Fiddlesticks’, Brisby thought aloud. ‘She probably saw Jeremy and his girl fly over and panicked. Wouldn’t be the first time.’

Despite this rather glib thought, Brisby decided to make one last inspection, and after burrowing her collected goods in a small hole and tapping the leaf to test its strength, Brisby dashed atop and scanned as much of the farm as she could. There was only a swath of movement from inside the Fitzgibbon house, no doubt Mrs. Fitzgibbon cooking something for when the family returned from market, while Brisby could just make out the vicious gleam of Dragon’s good eye from the loft window of the barn. No machines were rolling about, no humans in the fields, nothing save for a thin veil of fog, almost seafoam in the evening light, that barely rose a half foot off the ground.

Then, Brisby caught a whiff.

At first, it reminded Brisby of the loud, burning sticks the Fitzgibbon children would light, the ones her departed husband once called fireworks. It burned her nose and sent the mouse reeling down from her perch, but then it shifted into the stench of cat food, instinct almost taking over the mouse as she hugged her little red cape. Then, the smell changed again, this time turning into the aroma of a fully grown garden, with fresh corn, carrots, peas and more phantom delights that made the small treasure Brisby had collected seem paltry.

On and on, the smell continued to be indecisive, and it all seemed to be coming from the small brook at the edge of the west field, a mere yard from Brisby.

Now, had this been Mrs. Brisby as she had once been, before her son’s illness had snowballed into a fight for her whole family’s life, she would have blindly obeyed the sudden prickling at the base of her tail and dashed for her home, perhaps even collecting her children and running for wherever everyone else went. As it was though, Brisby made sure to memorize the position of her stash before following the shifting aroma, which now resembled the flaking crust and creamy filling of one of Mrs. Fitzgibbon’s pies, tickling her whiskers and curling her tail as she approached.

By the time Brisby reached the brook, the silence about her had turned from crushing to all-consuming, almost plucking her very breath and footsteps away while the kaleidoscopic scent was overriding everything else in the mouse’s world, almost caressing her nose as it led her into the thicket that kept the brook hidden from human eyes.

Under an arch of curled grass, Brisby halted, the sight before her eyes knocking her out of her blind following delirium. Much of the grasses about the brook had been trampled, the size and shape of the marks suggesting human work. The brook itself seemed unaltered, slipping in through one corner of the fence before filing back out after only a foot as it always had, but in that inlet of land cut by the water stood a large metal barrel. It was as big as Dragon, streaks of bright yellow hidden under a shell of green paint.

It took Brisby treading to the edge of the water on her side before she could attempt to decipher the words poorly hidden under that second coat.

“Exp...erima-mental. Cau...Caut...Caution...”

That was all Brisby could trudge through before the intense aroma of this mystery took hold of her again. Her stomach gave an empty squelch as she took in the new mixture of fresh spring berries and potatoes, and she licked her lips against her will before trying to step back. Though she had never seen many mouse traps herself, Dragon being worth more than a dozen of the devils, Johnathan had given her and the kids many warnings about such human inventions; a moment’s temptation, then damnation. He had even once tried to draw a picture of one of the horrible devices, but the folded over square was nothing like the rotund cylinder before her, and surely such a wonderful smell couldn’t be dangerous.

Her growing hunger overriding sense, Brisby took her first step into the thin trickle of water between her and that heavenly smell. Her ears fell against her head, instinct believing the sudden spike in heat she was feeling was from the sun, forgetting said ball was half sunk under the horizon and full covered by a swath of clouds.

“H-hello?” Brisby called between whiffs, “Is anyone in there?” But no answer came, not even her own echo. But Brisby called again. It was impossible to think that something that smelled so glorious didn’t already have some jealous creature guarding it.

By now, she was only a few steps from the barrel, her paws sinking into the halo of mud surrounding it and tingling as she pulled them out. This upset her balance, leaving the mouse to stagger the last few paces. She leaned against the barrel for support, but leapt back with a pained gasp at the chill of the metal. The pain gave her a moment’s clarity, and once more all her instincts told her to leave this curiosity to wallow. But as she pulled herself up, her brain was blasted by a reprisal of the fresh pie aroma and her stomach snarled at the thought. Whatever was in this was too good to leave lying about. And if the humans were going to waste it, then why should it be someone else’s meal?

The olfactory hook reeled Brisby in, having her march around her quarry before coming to a small cut just above the bottom rim, one so small that it would have been invisible if not for the thick contents oozing out and down onto the ground. The thick green sludge sent Brisby shivering as it was dolloped into her cupped hands. It was like holding slush. But when Brisby brought the green sauce to her lips and gulped it down, she didn’t care, she dug her hands right back in and watched as the stuff piled onto her hands again before licking it all away and going for thirds.

As she collected her fourth helping, Brisby finally noticed the soft tingling in her feet had turned to a furious itching and she forced herself from her fountain to see what the matter was. Her logical mind flickered back on as she saw her feet stained in grassy hue of the sludge. Of course, it was a given considering Brisby had pressed herself against the godly reservoir so as to not risk another drop slipping through her fingers, but at best it would have just pooled on the tops of her feet. Instead, it was like she was wearing skintight green socks cut in a wave pattern at the ankles, complete with inflated tips on her toes, giving them a ball-like appearance.

But there was something else. Brisby stared at her feet, not sure if it was just her imagination or not, but she could swear her feet were bigger than they had before. With more effort than she would want to admit, Brisby retraced her steps and, after a futile attempt at washing the green off in the brook, placed one foot against its imprint in the mud.

Yes, it was larger. Brisby’s foot had grown by several centimeters, and it was still going too, shoving aside mud as it inflated at a slow, consistent pace.

“Oh dear...” It was all Brisby could say, and she repeated over and over with pinprick eyes when she felt that same itching sensation spark up in her hands, which had already taken on a similar hue to that of her feet. Small whips of green residue trickled off her fingers, which Brisby was now repulsed by.

As she tried to wash her paws in the brook, the rushing water kept her mind awake.

How was this to be solved?

The medicinal mouse Mr. Ages would probably know, but he had gone with the rest of The Rats to ‘Thorn Valley’, and heaven only knew where that place was or how far.

Perhaps The Great Owl, but it was dusk, he would already be hunting by now, assuming he was still alive.

Hints of the old, more frightened Brisby began to surface as those awful fears gave rise to new ones. “Oh...the children. What would they think? Perhaps I could wrap myself a little tighter in my cape...oh, but then The Shrew would never let me hear the end of it.” The green color wasn’t washing off, but Brisby continued to scrub if only to ignore the aroma still tugging at her nose and brain.

“Oh, this is just the sort of thing Johna...Johna...Joel...what was his-WOAH!”

Brisby landed in the water face first, her balance ruined by a sudden growth spurt in her right foot, which was larger than her left by whole inches and still going. Without thinking, Brisby scrabbled her way back up the bank, forgetting it was a bank saturated with that horrible ooze until the sweet smell socked her right in the nose. In the evening light, the runoff from the barrel glistened in Brisby’s eyes, almost hypnotizing her.

“N-No!” Brisby growled as she tried to scoot out the other way. “Can’t get any more on me. Have to be strong for Jo...Joh..Jonah? No...” Why was it so hard for her to remember that name? She had to remember him, he...who was this John-ish name for again? Brisby tried to think, but her mind was drawing blanks as wasted ooze buried the rest of the deck.

Whoever he was, Brisby wasn’t going to let this good stuff be wasted on him. Scrabbling by her balloon-like hands and dragging her five-inch feet through the mud, Brisby returned to that glorious fountain, this time eschewing her hands and sucking the open wound of its fruity, pasty goodness.

What poor Brisby couldn’t have known was how recently her little wellspring was left there and how much of its contents were left. Nor would she had cared as she continued lapping up the ooze with orgasmic moans, her paws rubbing what dribbled down her chin across her body, painting it the same green hue as the rest of her. This was easy to do as every chug of the mystery substance sped up her mutation, inflating her hands and feet until they were already the size of a small human child, with the rest of her frame catching up fast. Her arms grew thick and jiggled like jelly with every movement, same for her legs as they soon fit her burgeoning feet and her cape snapped away as she shoulders struggled to keep up with her enormous gut In an instant, her tail had extended to three feet in length and squeaked like a balloon as it curled around an emerald potbelly already five feet wide.

But Brisby was ignorant of these changes, and remained so until, amid a final bellow for more, she squeezed what was now a can at her size and shot the remainder of her meal down her throat.

After looking into the empty depths, Brisby pouted and tossed the can away. “Daww...no more yummy stuff...” The mutated Brisby’s voice was far lower now, and one look at the vacant stare in her eyes suggested something similar for her IQ. Her tongue poked out her bulbous muzzle as she looked about for another can to gulp down, but found nothing. “No fair...Brisby not finished yet.”

But while Brisby’s brain was muddled, the same couldn’t be said for her nose, as the chubby green mouse soon caught wind of more of that delicious glob, or at least something that smelled a whole lot like it. And it was coming from the direction of that pretty house. The mutated mouse giggled as she flopped herself up and waddled her way towards the yummy smell, tongue still flopping out as she incoherently mumbled to herself.



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$700 a week...

$700 a week...

Every time doubt tried to plant itself in her mind, Mrs. Beth Fitzgibbons thought about that wonderful number.

$700 a week. That was what her husband told her the pink-smocked people promised the farm for trying out that new fertilizer, something about testing the stuff in ‘uncontrolled environments.’

Neither of the Fitzgibbons had been fully onboard with the idea even though the strangers had their first check already drawn up and ready for deposit , but the offer sounded too tempting too pass up, and the farm could always use some trouble cash, especially if they wanted to buy that patch of wild brush not far from the property and expand.

The patriarch was the first to crack, the second check clearing into the family account being all the reason he needed, but as Mrs. Fitzgibbons stood over the trashcan overflowing with peelings, she still wasn’t sure.

There was just something about blue potatoes she found so unwholesome.

And it wasn’t just the potatoes either; All day long her family had been sorting and cleaning carrots with green vertical stripes, cucumbers that looked more like balloon snakes than anything edible and more oddities that would more likely put the farm in a freak show than easy street. But her husband saw dollars, and Mrs.Fitzgibbons knew better than to fight her husband during one of his crazy ideas.

So instead, here she was working over a pot of cerulean mashed potatoes while her husband and kids were out trying to sell their mutants along with their actual produce at the market. God only knew what kind of state they’d be in when they got back, but the woman would be damned if they were going to be hungry.

“If nothing else...” Beth muttered as she wiped her hands on her apron, “...they at least smell good.” That was just the one thing she couldn’t deny; the whole house was awash in the thick aroma of sweet rolls and exquisite bisque, the latter of which came from the boiling pot of vegetable medley in the oven, but what would it matter if they tasted rotten?

True, her husband assured her he had tried the veggies before hauling them off, but Mrs. Fitzgibbons wasn’t sure. It wouldn’t have been the first time Paul lied to keep her calm.

After first peeking through the window to see if Dragon was still intent of holing up in the barn loft, she checked the kitchen clock and snorted.

“Should have been back by now...

A part of her thought about calling the market register to see if open hours had been extended, but decided against it. It would have seemed nonsensical and Paul would have teased her about missing him until dawn. Soon enough, she’d be hearing the roar of the truck and trailer as they made their way to the farm gates.

But it wasn’t soon enough for her stomach, which mewled pitifully.

Taking the casserole from the oven didn’t help, especially when she slit open the foil top and let the violet and pink speckled compound blast it’s aromatherapy in her face. In that moment, Mrs. Fitzgibbon was overcome with an urge to dig in then and there, but she tried to fight it on the pretense of it making her appear impatient.

However, as her stomach growled louder for license, the housewife’s resolve broke. She at least had enough sense to scoop out from the blue mashed potatoes, that would be easier to cover up.

They were perfect. She hadn’t even put butter on them, yet they were soft and fluffy, almost liquid as they slithered down her throat.

“Oh my, maybe my husband was onto something after all.”

Mrs.Fitzgibbons turned to set the table, but paused and turned back first to the massive pot then the spoon she still had in her hand.

“Well...maybe just another scoop wouldn’t hurt...”

Quite the contrary, it was even better than the first. This time, there was no pause before she helped herself to a third, far larger scoop, lips smacking as a familiar blue hue started to creep across them.

As she savored her fourth spoonful, there came a disjointed knocking from the front door, followed by a slow, deep set of giggles. Taking a blue laden ladel, Mrs. Fitzgibbon trudged through the house. The lighter vases and knickknacks bounced in place with each step of the woman’s already foot-long feet.

Though not turned to mush at that stage, Mrs. Fitzgibbons’ mind was docile enough to not question the green shortstack mouse woman standing at her doorstep. Though she did show annoyance when said mutant took the ladle with her puffy paws and sucked the mashed potatoes away before letting off another round of bass giggling.

“So nice...Brisby like you.”

Mrs. Fitzgibbon was helpless as Brisby’s neck stretched out, letting the mouse give her pointed snipe nose a sloppy peck. Mrs. Fitzgibbon blushed and giggled herself as Brisby let herself in. The doorframe cracked as the mouse squeezed in, and her tail knocked the sidetable over with a splintering crash. Fitzgibbon didn’t mind though; her husband would pay for a new one.

As more decorations clattered and smashed to the floor amid the heavyset mouse’s waddles, Mrs. Fitzgibbons followed close behind, marveling at her new guest’s chubby frame. The latter seemed to notice, giving the doorway to the kitchen a strong double hip check, giving the blue-faced woman a good view as her cheeks clapped and jiggled with every movement.

“Brisby cute, isn’t she?”

“Very cute.” Mrs. Fitzgibbons slammed her hand against her mouth as her cheeks flushed to a deep violet. What was she thinking? Why did she say that? Why was she being so accepting of this green freak of nature just coming in and wrecking her house?! Beth rushed to the phone, mind straining whether to call police or animal control. When she tried to dial either though, her heart nearly stopped. A multi-note jumble twanged in her ears, and she saw in horror that her fingers had inflated, now as puffy as Brisby’s and too big to be of any use.

As Beth tried to keep herself from devolving into pure panic, Brisby was sneaking up behind with two ladles, one with the blue potatoes and another laden with the multicolor casserole. Though she was giggling, Brisby felt sorry for the woman. She was far too skinny, perhaps that was why she looked so stressed.

“Cutie...but could be cuter.” As Brisby spoke, her tail lashed out, spun Mrs. Fitzgibbons around and then Brisby caught her between two of her bulbous toes, leaving the woman helpless as both ladles were held up to her face. “Need to eat more yummy stuff.”

With her mind wavering between madness and panic, all Beth could think to do was scream. She was rewarded by both heavenly mixtures being poured into her, the spicy vegetables sloshing about and mixing with the potatoes into pure bliss. Much like Brisby before her, rivulets of the concoction rolled down her body, painting blue streaks across what areas weren’t already infected before pooling at her gangly blue feet as they snapped away what was left of her socks.

“Ooo…” Beth moaned, “That’s good…tasty…” She lapped a few droplets from the corner of her lips, not caring to notice how her nose was turning into a square shape. Brisby’s feet were just so warm and fuzzy, and she smelled so good, just like all that food waiting for them in the kitchen. “Beth hungry.”

With a flick of her massive toes, Brisby brought the mutating woman to her arms and carried her bridal style into the kitchen. “Beth cuter too.”

Beth giggled at a lower register than normal while her arm stretched to the casserole dish like taffy, complete with a whip-like crack as she pulled back the hefty ladle. “Mousey Brisby girlfriend cute too.”

The two mutants soon devolved into alternating between gorging, giggling and kissing as their bodies continued to twist under the influence of the mutagenic food. Once Beth (she couldn’t remember her last name or even if she had one) had turned fully blue, her body seemed to unravel upon itself, turning her into a stringy mess, just perfect for wrapping the oversized Brisby up. The only exceptions were her nose, which was now large as a brick and just as cubic, and her feet, which rivaled the room-filling size and bloated texture of her new girlfriend’s.

Within minutes, the two gluttonous creatures devoured the whole meal and were resting off their food coma on each other’s massive feet, Brisby’s weight causing her to slosh about like a waterbed while Beth was tied around the green fur with a off-center bow.

“Mmm…Brisby love blue cutie girlfriend…but Brisby’ll soon be hungry…”

“Ooo…uhhh….Beth know where food is…loads of goodies around…duhhh…” Beth’s mouth hung open, her polka-dotted tongue lolling out from her mouth as her brain stopped amid the warmth of her ‘bed.’

The two mutants, sleep overtaking anything else in their squallid minds, closed their eyes and nuzzled against one another, their mutagenic feast locking their new lives in place.