Skip to main content

Bunny

Everyone froze when they saw. The women put their hands to their faces.  A little girl cried.  

Yesterday after breakfast, Shay screamed from the backyard.  Maria's muscles untensed as she recognized joy in the piercing cry.  She was safe. A smiling, bouncing angel appeared at the back door.
"What is it, Shay?" Her heart pounded from the jolt of adrenaline.
"Momma!" The girl suddenly giggling. "I found bunnies!"

She knew the newborns were alone in the world.  Maria had found what was left of their mother while mowing the lawn, and removed the ugly carcass to the woods. It was a world full of ugly truths, but Shayna wouldn't have to face them yet.  One day she'd know the truth, and she could deal with it how she had to.  

It was a bit hot for all the games Maria had planned, and the flock of six-year-old girls and boys were scattered about.  The bunnies, snug in old dish towels, had been returned to their box in Shayna's new room. Maria remembered the love she felt for her daughter the first time she held her, and the oath she whispered in her baby's ear.

"I'll never let him hurt you."

Shay and her friends drifted over to where one of the moms peered into the brush at the back of the yard.  The boys chased a ball and each other, shouting and laughing, oblivious. A familiar squeal was joined by a chorus of shrieking princesses.  "Momma!"

The mom tried to protect the animal with her body, but the little thing was scared and bolted. The mob descended, sparkling iridescent in the July sun.  Maria was close enough to hear the small snap that meant death for the infant. A gasp escaped her lips as the children stared in silent horror. It was something most of them would never forget.  There sat Shay, eyes shining, unable to speak. She had stumbled in the chase.  Her birthday dress was stained. 

The bunny convulsed for a moment, then lie still in the clover.  Maria looked over the girl's sobbing shoulders for where the mother rabbit lie discarded among the trees. She was glad she'd killed Rob.  Her daughter needed a mother.



Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Blog Structure

When I set out to create art, I usually follow my instincts when I decide what kind of art to create. By that I mean I consider various possibilities until I find one that doesn't disgust me.  Artists, you might know what I mean. Some nights the sketchbook is your best friend, other times you can't even stand to look at it. I was looking at the blog my brother and I used to do, called Fight the Nothing, and I was inspired to make a change here in my writing journal. I need two things, structure and diversity. I have always been principally a visual artist, and I would like to improve my skills on that field as well. Also, as I said above, sometimes I just don't want to write, at least not on the blog. Therefore, I will now be including visual art in my notebook, just as it has been in every class I've ever attended. I think I require some structure to create good art, or at least to start on the path towards it. I know myself to be somewhat defiant, and I love to twist ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Practice.

Artist! Writer! Practice your skills. Read something, pen something, sketch something still. Swiftly unraveled,  Long work to re-bind, The tenuous strands 'tween thumb, fingers and mind. Let not the dreams slip, Through unclenching hands. Guide them, direct them. Make patterns of sand. Pay no mind to mistakes, They belong, let them be. They're trees in the forest you're trying to see. Make ready your keyboard, Sketch paper and ink, You're readier now than you may ever think.
Post a Comment
Read more

Front Porch Ramble #5

The old man who lived across the street sometimes glared at Jeremy while he sat smoking, his lawn waiting very patiently for a trim.  In the 8 years he had lived here, he had never learned the man's name.  So long after moving to the neighborhood it would have been awkward to seek introductions.  Jeremy thought of him as a man with nothing else to do but dedicate himself to a nicely tended lawn and well maintained landscaping.  This was in part due to the spotless emerald carpet that left no doubts as to property lines, but also due to the 8 plastic cans in varying hues that appeared on the curb every Monday morning on yard waste day.  Without fail, Jeremy had never seen less than 3 bins out week after week.  He sometimes wondered if the old man was slowly digging out an in ground pool in the backyard, or perhaps something more nefarious.  No, there was the old woman, poking her head out to check on his progress.  This was real life after all, n...
Post a Comment
Read more