This is my thursday prompt. The prompt word here is different from yesterday. It's less abstract and I thought of all I could do thinking about the Ticket being a central theme. Took about 40 minutes, and inspiration from Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.

Hope you enjoy it, I'd be glad to hear criticism. =D

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The Ticket

“There’s the ticket!” The cat grinned, slapping his knees with his paws. “That’s what we have to do to get in!” he pointed at the gigantic door at the far end of the street.

“Come on, do ya really think we gonna get in lak that?” the moose shrugged, full of disbelief.

“Klay, mah man, that plan is PERFECT.” The feline ignored him, his eyes shining as he looked at the huge gateway, appearing ready to make a run for it.

The antlered mammal rolled his eyes. “Ah dunno. It might actually be easier to—“

“Less talkin’, more climbin.” The cat cut him off and made a mad dash for the kitchen.

“McCoy!” Klay yelled, but the cat was already gone in his own little world. The moose sighed. “Oh boy, nothin’s gonna git to him now.”

The bull took his keys, and unlocked the door to the old house’s balcony. He went through and laid lazily along the whitewood railing, looking at the cobblestone road, busy as ever. People were paying money to coaches to ride across the very long strip of land that marked Leaky Lane, probably the most crowded place in the whole province right now, and with good reason. The gigantic door at the end marked the border to the next country over, and far too many folks wanted to go through.

There was an explanation for that, though, and it’s not as complex as anyone might think. It’s just rumours that a civil war’s about to break out between the two ruling parties and all the rich folks are buying their way into the neighboring land. He watched all the people going by, almost all of them dressed in fancy frilly clothes and the rest of the hillbillies and farmers are selling them odds and ends and making a killing. Of course, Leaky Lane had pretty different taste from the rest of the country. Keys were their thing, and the whole country’s flag was all about keys. ‘Keys to Freedom’, which was the nation’s coat of arms, was so darned popular and actually became a fashion to the rich folk in ‘the name of good patriotism’. Leaky Lane made souvenir keys, key-shaped toys, anything related to keys. It’s funny that everyone bought them keys before leaving the country to the war.

“Klay! Klay!” the feline called from below, and the moose only cringed, hearing the darn cat’s shrill voice.

“What is it now, McCoy?” the bull went through the door and locked it again with his key. “Ye better have thought it through or I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah, ah was about to git the ladder, but then Nunkey tells me that the mayer of this lil’ ol’ town gots a key from a good buddy of his on the other side.” He looked at the moose pointedly.

Klay only narrowed his eyes. “Well yeah he does.” He answered. “He most certainly does have a key, but he certainly don’t use it none.” The moose went downstairs, and the cat only followed.

“But Klay, don’t be such a fool!” he pleaded. “Come on, that’s way better than gettin’ a tall ten-foot ladder and goin’ over the wall! Ah mean, there is a door and only the mayer’s got the key to open it.”

The moose just turned around so briefly, almost considering before he waved the cat off. “Bah! Why don’tcha git what ah mean?”

“Because yer not tellin’ me anythin’.” The cat waved, exasperated. “Ya can open up to me, buddy!”

The bull had just given up at this point. He stopped, and took the large golden key that dangled around his neck and tossed it to the cat. “Ya know what?” he said, angrily. “If you’ve really been listenin’ to me this whole time, you’d get it if ah told you to open yer eyes and stop for a minute without runnin’ around like a headless lizard.”

The cat grabbed the key and took in its whole weight, as heavy as it was. “Ah have been listenin’ to ya—“

“No, ya haven’t. Ya haven’t since the first day this rumour thing started.” The mayor donned his hat and his coat. “Only because I’m yer friend and yer mah helper around the house, I’ll make it clear for you because ah know you can learn.” He stopped at the front of the door, unlocking it and walking out onto the main street. The moose turned around.

“If you call that ‘yer ticket’ and yer goin’ north, I’m goin’ south.” He waved a ticket that was in his hand. “This is mah ticket on a train headed fer southwards.”

“But why when everyone’s headed north? It takes days to go south by train with nothin’ in between but bunch o’ rocks and thieves!” the cat looked confused.

“Ah told you! All the bandits are goin’ north cause all the rich folk are goin’ there. If ya stop and listen to yer own brain, you’d feel the same, instead of thinkin’ all them rich guys are right because they’re rich.” He started heading south to the station, cramped with trains ready to head back south down the country to pick up all the people going to head to Leaky Lane, last, northernmost stop to cross the border.

The cat stopped, looking at the gold key, then the wall, then the mayor, the only person heading down that way among thousands headed up to the big wall. He looked at the wall again, seeing that the huge door wasn’t actually so big. He looked at the key, and was shocked to see it very light and small. He also saw that at the other side of the string that wound around the key had a ticket on it too. The cat only looked at the moose again. He could see him clearly among thousand blurred people, and he looked big. He smiled, and then dropped the key, taking only the ticket as he chased after the moose.