Monday, March 29, 2010

Rabbits on Easter.

Bunny- 364 words
Stephen N. Dethrage

Richard mused that in a fair, compassionate world, rabbits would not die on Easter. The other holidays would need no such regulation, because it's not as though there's a high risk of discovering Cupid, a Leprechaun, or old Saint Nick dead in the lawn on their particular holidays, but in this case alone, cosmic law ought to have made an exception and dictate that predators pass over rabbits on that single Sunday in Spring.

He thought these things with furrowed brow as he dug a small grave in yard, because, on the only day of the year that people spend much time at all thinking of rabbits, the last thing one should have to deal with is the mauled remains of such a creature. Nevertheless, this morning, amid the hidden plastic eggs and multicolored baskets, the carcass of the rabbit was posed dramatically, there on the lawn, as if to express to all passersby that this planet is neither fair nor kind.

The corpse, once swift and vernal, was torn, bloodied, growing colder every minute. The beagle, responsible for the murder and bored with the lifeless thing in the grass, stood a few yards away waiting for his next bit of fun to arrive. Richard took pity on the fallen creature, and set out to bury it before his daughter woke and discovered the morbid scene. He was glad to avoid her urgent questions about the gruesome death of the bunny on the lawn, because he knew from six years of such questions that he wouldn't be prepared to answer many of them. He would have to lie to her, and swear that he believed God had some overarching plan for the betterment of everything that neither of them could comprehend.

As he shoveled out the almost comically small grave, Richard sought deeper meaning and symbolism beneath the blood-stained exterior of the event. On the holiday of rebirth and resurrection, he pondered the death of fantasy and myth, and the death of youthful ignorance, and the death of all things old and new, eventually. Ultimately, though, the only thing he concluded was that in a fair, compassionate world, rabbits would not die on Easter.

High and Dry - Radiohead

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