When I was in eighth grade, my English teacher decided me and a friend of mine were advanced enough to basically skip the year. Instead of attending class, we were sent to the library to spend our time writing short stories and being goofballs.
I’ve wondered about those stories; we wrote quite a few. But alas, this was in the day of floppy disks and no cloud storage, so most of them are gone forever. Sadface!
However, today, while sorting through some of my old shit, I found one! Here you go, readers…one of my first works, co-written with my friend:
The small bunny nibbled on the fresh green shots of grass. It hopped along the little brook that was now more like a stream because it was spring. Its tiny tongue lapped up the clean, clear water to wash down its meal.
The bunny dashed through the woods, dodging between trees and roots that stuck up from the ground. Mommy. Mommy! Where are you? Mommy!!!!!
Little Bunny tripped on a root, fell to the ground, and whimpered a small last whimper. It looked up with its little blue eyes and saw a barrel from a shotgun pointing at its little heart.
“You’re dead now, you schtinking varmit.”
“Way to go pops. Ya finally got the little bugger,” yelled the young whipper snapper from across the stream.
Little Bunny’s forlorn face looked sadly up at the old geezer, who’s garlicy breath was enough to wipe out the rabbit itself. He didn’t even need to use the big, mean, and nasty shotgun.
“Hey boy, run on home, tell yer ma we’ll be having rabbet stew tanite.” He grinned and looked at the bunny with his evil eyes.
Little bunny shook with fear. Where’s mommy? he thought.
The man picked up Little Bunny by the scruff of his neck, and threw him into a bag hanging around his waist. The bunny looked up at the little bit of light that shown in from the opening. Hey, maybe I could fit through that, he thought. He tried to claw out and climb to the opening of the bag, but the man started walking back to the house. Little Bunny plunged back into the depths of the deep, dark, burlap sack.
“Hey, pops, can I shoot ‘im?”
“Naw boy, its already dead. You can help your maw cut it up though.”
Little Bunny gasped from inside the bag. They thought he was dead. They wouldn’t even think he could escape now. He had to try, had to get out somehow, he had to find mommy.
With a bump he knew that the old man had dropped him to the ground. The opening looked big enough for him to fit through. He dragged himself out of the bag, and rested on the soft grass. He was out. He was going to live. Mommy, he had to find mommy.
Then he looked up. Hanging from the black roof of the big barn was mommy’s frail, little body, covered in blood. Mommy!
“Pa, I thought you said he was dead,” yelled the young boy as he watched the bunny squirm out of the sack.
“Well, he is now, no need to worry pops.”
Morbid little fuck, wasn’t I? Nevermind that no one would hunt rabbit with a shotgun…I was twelve, so we can suspend our disbelief a bit more than normal. :)