Boomer was born to a peach and white sow named Marge. It was a litter of nine, woulda been ten, but mama scarfed one of the babies down mid-labor.

Common-ish for Golden hamsters. The tiny blind lifeform writhed in agonizing confusion as Marge chomped on it like a pink baby carrot. Oxygen torched its lungs and teeth sliced its flesh in perfect concert. The baby would return back inside mama within seconds. Out one end, back in through the other. And then the next morning, back on out in the form of a sticky, brown bowel movement replete with pink undigested muscle chunks. A real horror show, to be sure.

In terms of particulars, mom’s first bite came when the infant was still half-inside her. By state law that’s still her property, no issues there. Marge never volunteered an explanation either, so all we can do is speculate as to why she did it. Perhaps she could smell mischief on the baby, and saved herself heartache by filling her belly. Maybe she knew she’d be down a teat, and didn’t have the energy to rotate the kiddos. In Marge’s defense, it was her 16th litter at Pistol Pete’s Pet Shop and a gal can only take so much breeding before a few marbles shoot out with one of the tit-nibblers. Nonetheless, and without any judgement towards Marge, she ate her sixth baby. Boomer was born lucky number seven.

He wasn’t the best looking fluff in the glass, as they say in the biz, but boy did Boomer have it.

A sensible temperament and parasites, yes, but also something else. A sparkle of hope glistened from his beady eyes. His whiskers seemed to reach for just a bit more. The motor in his ticker was constantly humming, just like the fancy fish tanks across from the parrot cages. Boomer did it all with unfettered moxie. And he would need it, for the squalor around him was far more dangerous than any predator beyond the rectangular bubble. 

There were 57 hamsters stuffed in the ten-gallon pet store aquarium, which works out to less than an-inch-per-varmint. Mix in a generous dose of neglect, and the animals had a nightmare on their claws. The water bottle would go days before being refilled. The shavings were rarely cleaned. The afore-mentioned fetus crumbs mixed with the public excrement and formed a toxic sludge that would infect and eventually kill five of the fur balls, including Snoopy, Sugry, Sully, and Monique. In addition to the lack of basic healthcare, the squeaking rodent sounds swirled off the glass in a perpetual echo chamber of agony. The inescapable tornado of noise lived in every head and haunted every dream. Only the dumb, deaf, and blind were safe here. And Boomer, for some reason.

Growing up in a small town pet store, it was natural for the animals to temper their expectations. Thus, most of the rodents failed to dream big. The ideal scenario was getting scooped up by a gentle little girl with dreams of a becoming a veterinarian. She might fiddle with your belly with a stethoscope, but overall, it’d be a real honest deal. In a perfect world she’d be a Temple Grandin type. A real hamster-at-heart kinda girl. Someone who gets it. On the flip side, if you dreamed too big, you ran the risk of falling too far down and gnawing your own stomach open like Uncle Fred did one chilly winter evening. He gobbled up his own guts for a good seven minutes before passing out and letting his family lick the plate clean. 

Yet somehow the obstacles that broke lesser hamsters down made Boomer even stronger. Most nights he’d be the only one awake, cranking out laps on the hamster wheel for hours. Strong body, strong mind. The rotating hum of the wheel lulled him into a mind state where aspirations of grandeur projected in his head like prophecy. It was there, where he picked the lock to the doors of reality. It was there, where unwavering belief finally morphed into destiny.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when it all happened for Boomer.

Sun, clouds, sky – the whole nine. Mario and Jeremy walked into the pet store. They pressed their faces up to the hamster tank, their adolescent acne barf left behind on the glass. Three of the hamsters darted away and hid under the wooden bridge. Felipe and Sprinkles burrowed into the gelatinous layer of shit. Emily spasmed in the corner from a brain disease. But not ol’ Boomer, boy. He recognized the opportunity for freedom and ran like the wind around the yard. It was a spry audition and he was impossible not to notice. And, after landing a 720 off the glass, the selection process was a mere formality. Mario pointed at Boomer.

The pet store rep, reached down on Hamster Nation and plucked Boomer up like the Chosen One. The sweet boy looked down on his fellow rodents and gave thanks for his struggle before pissing down on them in excitement. Then he was taken to the cash register and exchanged for pretty paper. Boomer’s body vibrated with blissful inclusion as he looked out the holes on the side of the box and approached a Dodge Neon with tinted windows.

The inside of the car was darker than Boomer expected. The seats and consoles were dark purple, and DMX’s “Let Me Fly” bumped through Mario’s woofers and tweeters. Jeremy lit up a ciggy and Boomer got a whiff of the fresh Camel Red. He closed his eyes and his little head rushed with the effects of second-hand nicotine. Man, the gang back at Pistol Pete’s wouldn’t believe this one. Hopefully someday, somewhere, they could all catch up about it. What a feeling this was, thought Boomer as the turn signal ticked and they headed towards a freeway exit.

Up above, a mechanical symphony whirred as the sunroof rolled back. The wind drowned out the music and the top of the box opened. Jeremy reached down and grabbed the adorable critter. The fuzzy lad. Jeremy’s hand held Boomer tight, and the clamminess clung to the rodent’s fur. Then the hamster ascended for the third time that day. Jeremy tossed Boomer up and out of the sunroof, Mario hit the gas, and the scrubby little booger was offered up in adolescent sacrament. Either let me fly, or give me death.

Time slowed down as Boomer’s four limbs swam in the air, trying to grasp onto the freedom his soul was swimming in.

No aquarium, no box, no confines for the first time in his life. The momentum swallowed him up and his body spun around and around in mid-air. Carbonated joy flushed through every cell in his itty-bitty body as he became one with the sunset over the turquoise and orange mountains. His reality now a carnival on four peyote buttons. Not in a billion hamsters, not with a trillion tries each, could they ever reach the heights Boomer did in that moment. The humble, small-town ball of fluff smiled in liquid gratitude and then collided with the solid matter below. He went numb right before his consciousness on Earth transferred somewhere else. And after a bit of tumbling, his carcass landed in the weeds on the side of the road.

The boys drove off into the sunset; smoking, laughing, trying out some raps of their own. Trying to figure it out, like the rest of us. A precocious raven named Rudy would find the lifeless hamster body. Still fresh, still tender, still delicious. Vintage Boomer down to the very last bite. What a ride it was for the audacious little pipsqueak. But now the breeze would have to summon the courage, somehow suck it up, and blow the fuck on without him.

Amen.

CREDITS: MUSIC

nikviolinist97: “Violin on D string From E to A”

ninjatech111: “Beautiful violin music”

lennyboy: “ScaryViolins”

InspectorJ: “Cuckoo Clock, Breaking Down”

Setuniman: “inner world » consolation 0L_10mi”

InspectorJ: “Horror, Violin » Horror, Violin Tremolo Cluster, B”

tyops: “Arcade Theme #2”

DMX: “Let Me Fly”

InspectorJ: “Rollercoaster Screams”

Timbre: “oymaldonad_bluesy_rock_guitar3_enveloped_reverbed”