Lemon Poppyseed Bread

  The first thing I notice is the smell of lemon poppyseed bread. Well, that and the thought that sweat is rolling down my fur. I'll smell in a few minutes, I know, if I don't get out from under this abandoned paper bag and move around. But don't all city mice smell like sewage and rotten banana peels? Don't all city mice have matted fur and lice? 
 a small rhyme for you: mice and lice 
—they go together like cheese and small spaces
   But the lights—so many of them. They fly upwards, downwards, and across, and speckle the night sky on top of cement pillars. The sky is painted black; something I'm not used to. Normally, smaller, dimmer lights twinkle in the sky, but tonight the stars seem to be all around me. 
  And the sounds are frightening. More than frightening. They screech like daggers and squeak subconsciously, they rumble deep and scream high, they honk like geese and yell like lions. Who knew the world could create such painful sounds? 
  I've decided to keep a journal while I'm in the city, in case I die here. That way, the unlucky mouse who finds my body can read my little journal and understand what happened to me. As you most likely already know, this is my journal. 
  So, hello, fellow mouse friend. I'm sorry if my body smells. 
  Oh, you're probably wondering why I was in the city in the first place. It was for a wedding. (If you're reading this and I'm dead, then I lost my life for joyous life. How ironic.) But—the wedding. The two mice that were getting married, Minni and Basil, needed a dessert for their wedding. They couldn't make a dessert because our entire town had run out of sugar; a few of the young mice had decided to dump the bags into a nearby stream. Because Basil was my brother (I don't know why I'm writing this is past tense. I could possibly not be dead), the villagers voted me to travel to the city and scavenge for a suitable dessert. 
  They didn't specify what kind of dessert they wanted. 
 a decision that has to be made:
a pastry,
ice cream,
pie,
cookie,
candy,
sweet bread,
pudding,
or cupcake?    there's too many choices for desserts in the city 
   I decide to go with sweet bread. I figure it'll be easy to get ahold of, since the smell of freshly baked lemon poppyseed bread coats the sidewalks. The path the smell takes is clear and easy for my nose to follow—all the way down this street, turn left at the sidewalk with the trash can shaped like a basketball, climb up the pipes that lead to the windowsills of an apartment building, climb into the open window of the bakery, jump onto the table, snatch a slice of the bread from the table (it's just been cut, and the workers are all helping customers downstairs—rush hour), climb back to the window and down the pipes, then scamper back through the city until I reach the edge of the wheat fields, make my way through the wheat fields, and—finally—reach the small village in between the forest and wheat fields, where I live. 
  Yes, my nose can smell all that. 
  To spare you of paragraphs of boredom, I'll skip the trip to the bakery. It really was uneventful, except for when the chef saw me in the kitchen, threw his spoon at me (he had terrible aim), and shrieked like a child when he saw me take a large slice of the lemon poppyseed bread from the counter. After his scream, the rest of the bakery staff ran in, trying to catch me with ladles and smash me with rolling pins.
  Uneventful, I told you. 
  I'll also skip the trip back through the city—tedious as well. Except for when that stray cat chased me for five blocks, and then got bored of being too chubby to run quickly. Oh, and when the garbage truck nearly drove over me as I was crossing the street. Humans can be so unaware sometimes. 
  The walk through the wheat fields was nothing short of torture. On my back I had a warm slice of bread that smelled heavenly, but I could not eat it; it had to be saved for the bride and groom. And then, of course, I miscalculated how many days had passed since I left my village. On the day I left, the farmers in the wheat fields wouldn't check them again for two days. I somehow thought two days would be enough for my stay in the city and travel back, but I really took three days in the city, so when I was venturing through the wheat, a dozen farmers were hacking away with their sickles, and, of course, one had to spot me. 
 a note for you:
trying to run away while having sharp blades
thrown next to you is not
a walk in the park
   Anyway. After my encounter with murderous farmers and their sickles, I at last reach my village. They are overjoyed to see me, and even more so when they see the delicious slice of lemon poppyseed bread on my back. I tell the story of my quest to the young mice in the village (and I thank the ones that had dumped sugar into the stream; they are the cause for the entire episode), and the village elders declare that a great festival would be held in honor of my bravery. 
  I suppose that I don't need to be continuing this journal, as I clearly didn't die from my trip to the city. But this can be a souvenir and artifact from my journey. 
  And one more thing: Minni and Basil gave me half of the slice of the lemon poppyseed bread. 
  The smell lingered in my fur for years to come.