Along the side of a dimly lit road, a handful of squirrels huddled under a wide-spread fern. The chattered and groomed in their nervous way. All could feel the rumbling through the ground of a fast approaching human machine.

One of them shook his head back and forth. He could not participate. He would not. The others stopped in their grooming and chattering. Silence defied his defiance. But he was resolute.

Tiny paws struck out, urging him with domineering force to comply. He only shrunk away, unwilling to make himself a part of their plan but unable to stand up to so many. His beady black eyes darted through the rainy night for a place of refuge, a way to escape.

There was no escape. In an explosion of fur and bucked teeth the others were upon him. He could not even cry out so quickly did they overwhelm him. And thus he died, the scent of rotted acorns stinging in his nose and all hope for a better tomorrow gone. The squirrels would rise up, and he could do nothing to stop them.