"The next time you feel yourself going dark in a poem, just don't, and see what happens." -Rachel Zucker, from Museum of Accidents

Uprooted

I walk outside, and a squirrel jumps down from the tree by my house, somehow carrying a pistol. It drops the pistol at my feet, and nudges me against the leg with its nose, then runs up the gutter of my house. I look at the pistol for a few moments before I bend down and pick it up. A family of white mice jumps out from under my porch, dragging a Kevlar bulletproof vest behind them. They leave it on top of my feet, and all point their noses up at me, twitching for a moment before scampering off, each in its own direction. I put the vest on, pistol in hand, and forgot what I had gone outside for, anyway. A few birds in the tree by my house open their beaks, and loud sirens emit from their depths. I hit the deck, not knowing what exactly to expect, but feeling somewhat prepared.