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Here's a short story that I wrote in response to a prompt from a friend's little writing community! It's a *short* short story, so I don't think there's a need for summary or witty commentary. Just read and enjoy! -- JJ Mike
Go Ahead
“Look at the bunny rabbit, he’s so CUTE!”
“Dominick, put the Nutella DOWN, or you don’t get your picture with the Easter Bunny!”
“Would they let us cut in front if we brought carrots for him? Ha ha ha!”
And that’s the sort of talk that thickened the air around Cynthia as she waited in line with her two children to get pictures with the Easter Bunny. The crowded mall smelled of that Sarku Japanese food that was delicious but didn’t seem authentically Japanese, even though Cynthia realized she wouldn’t know real Japanese food if it was right in front of her. She’d have to look it up. She opened the browser on her phone and began to type in some keywords, but she realized that now she looked like every other Mercedes-driving mom in line to get her kids pictures with the Easter Rabbit. She slipped the phone into her purse.
The line moved forward. Cynthia went with it, and her children followed. The music from the overheads had a lot of reverb. It was like the mall was trying to be a cathedral. She raised up on her tip-toes, but only saw the tips of the rabbit’s ears. How funny but convenient it would be to climb one of the nearby fake palm trees for a better view! A little boy up ahead began shrieking, and presumably his father laughed. “Man, the rabbit won’t hurt you,” said the father. “He let you pick out a name for him. How much more friendly can he get? Come on, man.”
Then the line shifted just the right way for Cynthia to see the Easter Rabbit. My God, it wasn’t someone in a bunny suit! They had somehow, some way, gotten a real one. A big, happy-looking rabbit-person. An anthropocentric, no, an anthropogenic, an anthro . . . a real flesh-and-blood fur. It . . . no, he looked down and rubbed his big black eyes in mock-sorrow as the man’s shrieking son ran and hid at the threshold of Build-A-Bear.
Cynthia gripped the hands of her children. Their time approached. The mom ahead of her clutched her keychain and cell phone in one hand. She was loud in her phone conversation, and the way her Lexus keychain jingled as she transitioned from impatient pose to impatient pose made it look like she wore a big Lexus earring. Two young men strategized about how they wanted to get the rabbit to join them in flipping off the camera when it came their turn. A woman in huge sunglasses stared open-mouthed at her daughter, who kept slapping her knees in a tantrum whose cause she seemed to have forgotten. The woman guarding the velvet rope that sealed off the rabbit cried “NEXT PLEEEEEASE” in a voice loud enough to reverberate through the whole food court even though the line didn’t extend there.
They were next. Cynthia’s children gripped her hands, firmer than she had gripped theirs. Something was wrong with this whole thing. No, it wasn’t wrong – in fact, the approaching moment was like when her younger self set her palm to a well-worn train rail and she could feel the vibration of the train approaching. Her ticket was secure in her pocket. There was more than enough time to give the steel behemoth its due space and hop onboard once it had settled. But she didn’t feel the ticket in her pocket anymore. The overhead speakers now played a hard rap song that was actually an ad for a skin care product. What had happened?
Cynthia and her family came up to the rabbit. His fur was a rich slate blue and he wore a navy suit of some bygone era. And even though she had pre-paid for this, even though she had promised her children pictures with the Easter Bunny, she felt complicit in something terrible. She could not go through with it. She smiled and nodded to the rabbit. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry. I wish you the best.”
The rabbit gave Cynthia the same hint-of-buck-teeth smile that he had given for everyone. It was impossible to discern the glossy, black, alien world within his eyes. She began to leave.
“Your kids can’t see it yet,” he said. “You don’t need to feel like you’re offending me if you let them get a picture with me.”
She didn’t let on that she felt as if he had peered into her bank account. Maybe she looked stupid as she stood there for a moment, as the luxury-car-driving moms chattered and the rap song about the skin-care product came to a crescendo and a lightspeed-talking lawyer-voice detailed the potentially dangerous side-effects of the product.
“It’s your call,” said the rabbit, one side of his grin turning wry, “although you did already pre-pay for this, didn’t you?” And he said this like it was some sort of amiable joke that would have been offensive if they hadn’t known each other for all these years, even though she had only just met him now. How unexpectedly cheeky! But with a smile like that, what could you expect the Easter Rabbit to be? The Easter mortician?
Cynthia let go of her children. “Tyler. Cynthia. Go ahead.”
So her children went ahead to the Easter Rabbit. Cynthia took a few good pictures of her daughter hugging him, and Tyler sitting at his feet. The rabbit embraced Cynthia at the shoulder and rested a handpaw on Tyler’s head.
Later in the day, when sorting through the sale rack at Express, Cynthia looked over the pictures. They seemed to have that wistful, off-world quality that she had always found in classical paintings, though if you had asked her what that is, she would have wanted to look that up like she had done with authentic Japanese cuisine. All she knew at that moment was that she didn’t need any of these crop tops, and that actually her wardrobe at home could clothe several needy families.
© 2023 JJ Mike
Go Ahead
“Look at the bunny rabbit, he’s so CUTE!”
“Dominick, put the Nutella DOWN, or you don’t get your picture with the Easter Bunny!”
“Would they let us cut in front if we brought carrots for him? Ha ha ha!”
And that’s the sort of talk that thickened the air around Cynthia as she waited in line with her two children to get pictures with the Easter Bunny. The crowded mall smelled of that Sarku Japanese food that was delicious but didn’t seem authentically Japanese, even though Cynthia realized she wouldn’t know real Japanese food if it was right in front of her. She’d have to look it up. She opened the browser on her phone and began to type in some keywords, but she realized that now she looked like every other Mercedes-driving mom in line to get her kids pictures with the Easter Rabbit. She slipped the phone into her purse.
The line moved forward. Cynthia went with it, and her children followed. The music from the overheads had a lot of reverb. It was like the mall was trying to be a cathedral. She raised up on her tip-toes, but only saw the tips of the rabbit’s ears. How funny but convenient it would be to climb one of the nearby fake palm trees for a better view! A little boy up ahead began shrieking, and presumably his father laughed. “Man, the rabbit won’t hurt you,” said the father. “He let you pick out a name for him. How much more friendly can he get? Come on, man.”
Then the line shifted just the right way for Cynthia to see the Easter Rabbit. My God, it wasn’t someone in a bunny suit! They had somehow, some way, gotten a real one. A big, happy-looking rabbit-person. An anthropocentric, no, an anthropogenic, an anthro . . . a real flesh-and-blood fur. It . . . no, he looked down and rubbed his big black eyes in mock-sorrow as the man’s shrieking son ran and hid at the threshold of Build-A-Bear.
Cynthia gripped the hands of her children. Their time approached. The mom ahead of her clutched her keychain and cell phone in one hand. She was loud in her phone conversation, and the way her Lexus keychain jingled as she transitioned from impatient pose to impatient pose made it look like she wore a big Lexus earring. Two young men strategized about how they wanted to get the rabbit to join them in flipping off the camera when it came their turn. A woman in huge sunglasses stared open-mouthed at her daughter, who kept slapping her knees in a tantrum whose cause she seemed to have forgotten. The woman guarding the velvet rope that sealed off the rabbit cried “NEXT PLEEEEEASE” in a voice loud enough to reverberate through the whole food court even though the line didn’t extend there.
They were next. Cynthia’s children gripped her hands, firmer than she had gripped theirs. Something was wrong with this whole thing. No, it wasn’t wrong – in fact, the approaching moment was like when her younger self set her palm to a well-worn train rail and she could feel the vibration of the train approaching. Her ticket was secure in her pocket. There was more than enough time to give the steel behemoth its due space and hop onboard once it had settled. But she didn’t feel the ticket in her pocket anymore. The overhead speakers now played a hard rap song that was actually an ad for a skin care product. What had happened?
Cynthia and her family came up to the rabbit. His fur was a rich slate blue and he wore a navy suit of some bygone era. And even though she had pre-paid for this, even though she had promised her children pictures with the Easter Bunny, she felt complicit in something terrible. She could not go through with it. She smiled and nodded to the rabbit. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry. I wish you the best.”
The rabbit gave Cynthia the same hint-of-buck-teeth smile that he had given for everyone. It was impossible to discern the glossy, black, alien world within his eyes. She began to leave.
“Your kids can’t see it yet,” he said. “You don’t need to feel like you’re offending me if you let them get a picture with me.”
She didn’t let on that she felt as if he had peered into her bank account. Maybe she looked stupid as she stood there for a moment, as the luxury-car-driving moms chattered and the rap song about the skin-care product came to a crescendo and a lightspeed-talking lawyer-voice detailed the potentially dangerous side-effects of the product.
“It’s your call,” said the rabbit, one side of his grin turning wry, “although you did already pre-pay for this, didn’t you?” And he said this like it was some sort of amiable joke that would have been offensive if they hadn’t known each other for all these years, even though she had only just met him now. How unexpectedly cheeky! But with a smile like that, what could you expect the Easter Rabbit to be? The Easter mortician?
Cynthia let go of her children. “Tyler. Cynthia. Go ahead.”
So her children went ahead to the Easter Rabbit. Cynthia took a few good pictures of her daughter hugging him, and Tyler sitting at his feet. The rabbit embraced Cynthia at the shoulder and rested a handpaw on Tyler’s head.
Later in the day, when sorting through the sale rack at Express, Cynthia looked over the pictures. They seemed to have that wistful, off-world quality that she had always found in classical paintings, though if you had asked her what that is, she would have wanted to look that up like she had done with authentic Japanese cuisine. All she knew at that moment was that she didn’t need any of these crop tops, and that actually her wardrobe at home could clothe several needy families.
© 2023 JJ Mike
Category Story / All
Species Rabbit / Hare
Gender Male
Size 119 x 120px
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