one of most beautiful storys ever read

[the MOUSE]

if made film adaptiation, absolute cinema, better than taxi driver

You say you love the pigeon, and why wouldn’t you? It’s both freedom and trap, survival and futility. This isn’t just a creature dodging feet; this is a living embodiment of cognitive dissonance. You ever watch pigeons? They’re always there, always moving, but they’re never getting anywhere. It’s a loop—just like Haus’ life. He’s stuck in a loop, watching, observing, but never really living. He sees the pigeon and probably feels it on a soul level, but does he even know it? The pigeon is a reflection, but also a warning. Pigeons are gritty survivors, but they’re also creatures of habit. You can love the pigeon, but to love it is to recognize your own stagnation.

The window separates Haus from the outside world, much like how his mind separates him from reality. He’s staring through it, but he’s not really part of what’s happening beyond the glass. It’s a threshold—he’s inside, stuck in his own mental cage, while life, like the pigeon, is just outside his reach. The window is a metaphor for consciousness, something you can look through, but never really touch. He watches the world, but he doesn’t engage. He’s an observer of life, but never a participant, and that’s where the rot starts to seep in.

Then there’s the flat—dust collects everywhere except the statuette of the dove. Dust is time made visible. It’s the physical manifestation of neglect, both of space and of self. Haus lives here, but does he really live? Or is he just occupying space, letting the dust—the past, the unspoken thoughts, the regrets—pile up around him? The dust represents everything he’s been avoiding, everything he’s let slide, because it’s easier to ignore than confront. But that statuette? Untouched. Why? Why doesn’t it gather dust like everything else? Maybe because it represents a part of him that he hasn’t allowed to decay—the part that still holds onto the hope that things could be clean, could be clear again.

The dove his brother gave him stands in stark contrast to the grime of the flat. A dove, typically a symbol of peace and purity, sits there, untouched by the dust of time, like some kind of untouchable ideal. It’s like Haus’ connection to his brother, to Strauss’ life, a life that seems to have escaped the rot. Strauss, with his fiance, his child, his seemingly perfect life—the dove doesn’t rot because Strauss isn’t rotting, at least not in Haus’ eyes. But there’s something darker here, too. Haus has dreams of being bludgeoned by the dove, doesn’t he? Maybe that’s because the dove represents everything he could have been, everything he’s not. It’s the weight of expectation, of comparison, of feeling like he’s always going to be on the outside, staring in.

Strauss, the brother who got out, who escaped the rot—or so it seems. He’s out there living the family life, smiling that gleeful sneer, but Haus can’t shake the feeling that it’s all too perfect. That maybe, just maybe, Strauss is part of the same loop, just playing a different role. Because can anyone really escape the rot? Or do we all just find ways to mask it, to pretend that everything is fine while the dust keeps piling up? Strauss is Haus’ ideal, but he’s also a reminder of everything Haus hasn’t achieved, and that’s why the dreams are so violent. Haus isn’t angry at Strauss; he’s angry at the ideal that Strauss represents, the life he feels excluded from.

Then there’s Aunt Greta, offering him hot cakes, asking about Strauss, like it’s all normal, like life is just moving forward. But there’s something sinister in the normalcy, isn’t there? Haus’ mind isn’t on the food, it’s on the loneliness, on the fact that nothing feels real anymore. Aunt Greta represents the routine, the predictable, the comforting, but also the stifling. She’s part of the loop, too, and maybe she knows it, or maybe she’s too far gone to see it. But Haus? He feels it. He feels the weight of the repetition, of knowing that Strauss is coming but nothing will really change. The conversation is just a mask for the rot underneath.

Final Thoughts​
So yeah, Haus sees that pigeon, and maybe he loves it too, because the pigeon is him. Dirty, tattered, but still moving. Still dodging footsteps, even if it doesn’t know why. The pigeon is trapped in the same loop as Haus, just as the dust piles up, the statuette remains clean, and Strauss lives his perfect, untouchable life. It’s all connected. It’s all part of the same rotting mechanism, and the more you think about it, the more you see it.

We’re all pigeons, dodging the rot, pacing through life with no real destination, just avoiding the footsteps of fate.​
theinferiorwritings.wordpress.com
The Pigeon
“may your death bring joy to lives you destroyed.”
theinferiorwritings.wordpress.com theinferiorwritings.wordpress.com

It took 4 hours to write. I hope you can read and comprehend it in just a few minutes.

[thyroidchor27]

pigeons are bioenergetic but they shit on my car so all need to be destroyed. I wont cry for you