Timothy the hamster jumps on his wheel.

He starts running, little legs pumping furiously to pick up speed.

He makes little leaps, trying to keep up as the wheel spins faster and faster.

Timothy doesn’t stop running.

Is he running from something or towards something?

Does his little hamster brain realize he isn’t going anywhere? That he’s trapped in a cage and he can’t wheel his way to freedom?

You see, the outcome is always the same for Timothy.

He can’t keep up forever. Eventually, he begins to tire and slow down.

The wheel starts to outpace his itty-bitty stride and he gets caught up in a revolution.

Timothy loses his footing and gets pinned down from the centrifugal force.

He spins ‘round and ‘round uncontrollably, until the wheel finally slows down.

Timothy slides close to the edge. Then he’s tossed violently on the final turn, like a dinky car shooting out of a loopity loop.

He’s stunned on impact.

Timothy lays limply on the cedar shavings lining his cage, dizzy and disoriented.

The wheel makes a half turn right, a half turn left. A half turn right, a half turn left. 

It’s hard to tell if the sad squeaks are from Timothy or the wheel’s last movements.

Then, all is silent.

…

…

…

Finally, Timothy picks himself up and gives himself a rough shake. 

His nose twitches and his small beady eyes stare down the wheel. Timothy trots over, jumps up, and begins to run once more.

He repeats the cycle again and again and again.

Run.

Lose control.

Fall to the ground.

Get back up.

Again.

Until one day, the wheel breaks.

So, instead of running to nowhere, Timothy hops over to the cage door. He chews and scratches at the latch.

The door springs open.

Without looking back, Timothy jumps through it.