Rabbit

• Christina Budur, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

The night sky was an inky violet, and the frothy clouds strung from the heavens parted in a small section to reveal a full June moon. In the sultry air, I could savor a wonderful concoction of newly harvested corn and freshly sheared grass.

As I peered from behind a discarded plow, I sensed a movement. I swiveled around swiftly, fearing a wolf but met with a wild rabbit instead.
“Hello there!” I exclaimed. “Nice night to be out, isn’t it?”
When the rabbit did not respond, but gazed at me timidly through two large glistening eyes, I continued.
“I love summer nights. There is a certain charm in the evening that is not present in the day, when all is motionless and so silent all you can hear is the gentle wind skim the top of the flowers.”
The rabbit sat down on its hind feet, as if expecting more from my digressive chatter.
“Ah, but I’m afraid that I shall be leaving soon. Papa says that going to the city is the only way I shall ever make something of myself, for life here in the village is not very opportune.”

The absurdity of narrating my concerns to a rabbit suddenly struck me: any onlooker would think me immensely queer. I nervously glanced around, half-expecting Mrs Abercrombie- the village gossip- to be leaning against her fence in order to hear more of my lunacies. All lights in the village were extinct, so I safely assumed that my exploits were unwatched. I observed that to my future acquaintances, city people, the snug cottages arranged in the village in tight pockets appeared unruly and derelict. I knew better: the gentle ivy creeping up its sides and ensnaring the cottages was an object of beauty, the gaily coloured yet peeling wallpaper beckoned in a friendly manner, the paintings randomly strewn on the walls resembled an abstract children’s collage yet to me it was a work of art. It would be such sorrow to depart from such luxuries; to be banished to the confinement of a bland city apartment.

“Here, in the village, with all its surrounding woods that are filled with the hymn of a bird’s song at all times, I feel that my heart is soaring like an eagle sweeping the sky in euphoria.”
Now sobbing, I proceeded purging my lamentations unto my confidante.
“I don’t want to go. I don’t want what is claimed to be a better life. Who cares if a village seems too outdated for the twenty-first century? I am content here and here I long to remain, for without the village I am like a body without a soul: simply a wandering orb without will and without motive.” I dried my tears on my blouse.

Perhaps sensing a deer some hundred metres away, the rabbit leapt into its burrow. I was left to my own condolence.