the red bunny plague

Dear constant reader, as Stephen King is fond of saying, you already know that I get all too easily addicted to new projects. That I engaged readily, back paddle frantically, surge, retreat, ask for support and then deny that I need any… In other words: it’s complicated with me and projects. One of the projects that I’ve been looking forward to begin, however, is the 100 days of Summer writing. Begun elsewhere, these summer’s posts are now coming home. New posts will first appear at One Thousand Ship Wrecked Penguins after which I will move them here.  And now let’s move on to red bunnies…


Big.Buck.Bunny.-.Ricky
I’m thinking about things that might happen and that might turn your world-view upside down (we say “Weltanschauung” which implies a totality of view perhaps no known, or perhaps not attempted in English): what if, all of a sudden, every buggy carries a red bunny head, and the babies cruising in them also carry the red bunny sign as do their parents. It’s either tattooed on or they have it from birth. Everybody is happy. The bunny face suggests this happiness. In this world, everyone makes love like rabbits do, maybe that’s the secret of happiness. A friend from Russia is walking the streets with me. Neither of us has the red bunny. We feel like strangers in the midst of all the bunny-induced merriment. It’s not that we reject the bunny, but rather the bunny has rejected us. At home, my wife greets me silently and solemnly. She takes my hand with great tenderness and takes me to our daughter’s room: there she lies, snoring like a child snores, evenly, unagitated, a bunny head on her shoulders, the red flabby ears spread out on the white pillow. My wife gives me a furry smile. My mouth is dry, but I’m insanely happy, I really am.

[First posted at 100 Days Of Summer at Plattenbau.]

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