The Easter Bunny - Part Four

Ten minutes later, Peter and Rabbit were standing outside a dilapidated building in Chinatown. The damp alley they stood in looked like it had never seen sunlight and everything was covered in damp green algae.

Peter looked at the flickering neon sign above the door. ‘The Rabbit Hole,’ he read aloud. ‘This place is fucking gross, Rabbit.’

Rabbit looked uneasy and wrung his hands. ‘You gotta keep the language down, man,’ he said. ‘They don’t like that sort of thing here; they say it messes with their Chi or something.’

Peter looked up at the narrow star-filled space high overhead and briefly wondered whether there was a giant farm in the sky to go to after death. He shook his head to disrupt the thought. ‘Isn’t it spelled ‘Qi’?’

Rabbit grabbed his ears and pulled them down low. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know! Please man, you gotta promise me you’ll keep the language down, I can’t handle getting kicked out of here. I need this place.’

Peter scuffed a hole in the algae on the pavement. He loved his swearing so very much – it was all he had left to remind him of his dad. In the scheme of things though, he only had to drop it for one night in order to save a couple of lives, his own included, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. He scuffed the pavement again and heaved a massive sigh. ‘Fine.’

Rabbit’s eyes lit up and he let go of his ears. ‘Thanks man. Appreciate it.’ He took a step towards the building. ‘Let’s see how far this rabbit hole goes.’ He winked conspiratorially and pulled open the heavy steel door.

‘Terrible, terrible joke,’ said Peter, but he followed Rabbit anyway.

White Rabbit was a strange one – for most people the jury was out on whether he existed or not. Some regarded him as a bit of a myth, others a bit of a hero - it all usually depended on who was telling the story, and in which setting it was being told. Young rabbits were told that White Rabbit was the saviour of the whole world, and that if they ate all their greens then they’d grow up to be big and strong like him. Adult rabbits were told by even older rabbits that White Rabbit was better in their day, and that today’s youth had it too easy. Hippy rabbits told everyone stories about how wise and cosmic White Rabbit was, that he was immortal, that he always had the best stuff like, dude, you don’t even know! How far the latter story went all depended on how many drugs the storyteller had taken prior to ‘taking the floor’. For the most part, the story of White Rabbit had circulated for so many years that people surmised that even if he was real, then he’d died long ago. Truth be told, White Rabbit did exist and, yes, he was quite wise, quite old, quite brave and quite fond of all things Opium, which is exactly how Rabbit met him. White Rabbit was responsible for keeping his jaundiced friend out of prison, and was the main reason Rabbit was no longer turning tricks outside dodgy pubs in exchange for drug money. White Rabbit provided a safe place for Rabbit to sleep should he ever find himself in trouble, and he provided him with small amounts of opium just to keep the shakes at bay. Deep down, White Rabbit was a philanthropist; a Zen-talking, opium-smoking, robe-wearing philanthropist. The mystique surrounding him gave him great influence among the rabbit population, which is precisely why the tortoises wanted him out of the picture; anyone who was a rallying figure was a target. He stayed hidden, watching from the shadows, helping rabbits in need whenever he could.

White Rabbit’s first and only close-call with the Consortium came about because of a young girl called Alice whom he’d befriended one night. He’d found her stumbling in a drug-addled haze in the public park opposite his house, muttering about cards and hearts and tea. When she wouldn’t respond to his simple questions he took her to the hospital, worried that it would be too late to counteract whatever substances she had imbibed. In the emergency department he informed the nurse on duty that the young girl seemed ‘as mad as a hatter’ and that she needed immediate care. He disappeared into the night, another good deed done. Shortly thereafter, Alice walked into the head office of the Tortoise Consortium and told a secretary about a rabbit she’d met who matched a description she’d seen on one of their Wanted posters. Alice had a faraway look in her bloodshot eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, but she was granted an interview regardless. When a clerk sat her down she struggled to stay on-topic and kept rambling on about a card game gone bad and the importance of time-keeping. In moments of coherence she asked about reward money. After some heavy interrogation, Alice named the location of the White Rabbit’s house and left with a pocketful of cash. Consortium agents, acting on Alice’s information, stormed through White Rabbit’s front door that night with orders to shoot first and ask questions never. Ever-prepared, White Rabbit dealt with the intruders the only way he knew how: by throwing burning bags of opium at them from the upper-storey of his house. The intruders got so high so quickly from the billowing clouds of smoke that they forgot why they were there, so White Rabbit made his escape straight past them out the front door. From that point on he was on his guard and only revealed himself to a trusted few.

Peter and Rabbit had been sitting on cushions on the floor of the opium den for fifteen minutes, impatiently waiting for White Rabbit to appear. Rabbit started drumming out a quiet but frantic beat on his knees with his hands and hummed under his breath. His eyes were bugging out of his head from withdrawals and he was directing all his willpower towards not throwing up. Peter on the other hand was spending the time watching the den’s other patrons and the serving girls that tended to them. Businessmen and students alike happily bathed in the fugue of the opium smoke which swirled through the room. Peter was getting nervous, and Rabbit was jonesing pretty hard for a hit.

‘Are… are you ok, Rabbit?’ asked Peter.

Rabbit just ground his teeth and kept tapping away on his knees. His crash had come on pretty quickly. Peter took a deep breath and thought hard about ways he could help his friend, but his brain was starting to vague out due to the smoke. ‘Rabbit, is there some sort of trick to staying sober in here?’

Rabbit snapped out of his almost-coma and clapped his hands together. ‘Trick!’ he said. ‘That’s it! You’re a genius! I just need to turn a trick! I’ll be right back!’ He jumped to his feet and tore out a side door.

‘Oh crap,’ said Peter. There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room and a frowning serving girl bustled over to Peter, shaking her finger as she came.

‘You will not speak like that in here. It disturbs the Qi.’

‘What?’

‘You’re killin’ our buzz, man,’ came a voice from across the room.

‘Oh,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that word counted. My bad.’ He stared at his lap until the girl went away. After a few moments the low hubbub of conversation returned and he was at ease again. It could have been the opium kicking in though; that would’ve helped relax him as well.

The door Rabbit had bolted through creaked open and Rabbit bounded back into view, stuffing white powder up his nose.

‘You got your fix I see,’ said Peter disapprovingly.

‘I did! Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I didn’t have to turn a trick either, was mad,’ said Rabbit, frantically stuffing what was left of the contents of his hands into his pockets. Rabbit glanced around with shifty eyes. ‘He’s here.’

Deep blue velvet curtains dropped behind the pair, almost on cue, and White Rabbit appeared in front of them. ‘Hello Peter,’ he said, his voice airy and singsong. ‘I understand that you are to the wind what the cherry blossom is to the tree?’

Peter just stared at him, replaying the question in his head. ‘What?’

White Rabbit just stared back until Rabbit nudged Peter. ‘It’s the way he talks, all in metaphors and poems and gear. Just smile and nod until it makes sense,’ he said.

Peter turned his head towards Rabbit just a touch, but didn’t break eye contact with White Rabbit. ‘So it makes sense in the end?’

Rabbit paused as if deep in thought and scratched his chin. ‘Sometimes,’ he concluded.

Peter looked a bit stunned, but recovered and turned his expression into a smile and a nod.

‘Good,’ said White Rabbit. ‘You understand, much like the apricot understands the bee. Please, allow me to introduce myself.’ He bowed low, arms spread wide. ‘I am White Rabbit, you may call me “White”. How may I assist you?’

Peter blinked his watering eyes for the first time in a minute. ‘Tortoises are trying to kill all of us and they’re using Little Bunny Foo Foo to do it!’

White flopped down on the cushions and stroked his wispy beard. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s “yes”?’ said Peter.

‘We’re all “yes”,’ said White.

Peter just looked puzzled whilst White took a huge pull from the hookah which sat beside him. A large billowing cloud issued forth from White’s nostrils and rose into the air. Peter stared at it until it merged with the cloud of smoke which hugged the ceiling.

‘What were you expecting?’ asked White, glancing up at the dissipating smoke with a chuckle. ‘The answer to your problems in a tableau projected onto my smoke cloud?’

Rabbit had started gazing happily at his own hands, so Peter continued the conversation on his own.

‘Yes?’

White Rabbit nodded. ‘Yes. We’re all “yes” sometimes. Do you understand?’

‘Of course he doesn’t understand,’ said a booming voice as the curtain was torn down with a swipe of a massive paw. ‘Nobody understands you, White,’ continued Foo Foo, his shotgun in hand. ‘No one ever has. You talk in riddles to make yourself seem more mysterious, but all you really are is a long-lived rabbit who escaped from a research lab many years ago, and you deal with the trauma by losing yourself in clouds of opium smoke.’

Peter pissed himself and started shaking, but Rabbit seemed unaware anything was happening, and kept staring at his hands. White however just looked amused. ‘I’m curious, Little Bunny, how did you find us?’

Foo Foo took a few steps closer. ‘I bumped into your friend Alice. After a bit of… encouragement she told me about your yellow friend’s opium habit and told me I might find him here. Finding you and Peter as well was just a nice surprise.’ Foo Foo started laughing, but his eyes stayed cold. ‘My bosses are going to love this. I get to take out Rabbit, Peter Rabbit and the elusive White Rabbit all in one go. Outstanding.’

Rabbit, bored of his hands, looked around and noticed Foo Foo standing there, light shining through the new hole in his ear. ‘Sweet dance-fucking shit!’ he screamed, pointing at Foo Foo. ‘Run!’ Rabbit’s mad dash for the door ended when Foo Foo pulled the trigger and took of his head. The body collapsed to the floor and people started screaming. Peter sat wide-eyed and stared down the barrel of Foo Foo’s gun, unable to comprehend the sudden loss of Rabbit. Foo Foo pumped another shell into the chamber. ‘Goodbye, Peter,’ he said with a smile. ‘Look on the bright side: at least you won’t have to be the Easter Bunny anymore.’ As Foo Foo’s finger tensed on the trigger, White darted forward with surprising speed, whipped his robe around Peter and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The shotgun pellets sprayed the floor where the two targets had been a fraction of a second earlier. Foo Foo lowered the gun slightly, looked around for his quarries and bellowed so loudly that all the fleeing serving girls froze in place. ‘No one leaves until someone tells me where they are!’ He blew away one girl as a warning and pieces of her sprayed across a rice paper partition. Foo Foo grinned. ‘I don’t know art, but I definitely know what I like.’

The Easter Bunny - Part Three

Peter Rabbit weighed a heavy chocolate egg in his hand and looked carefully up and down the street, making sure there were no witnesses. Satisfied there was no one about, he arched his back and hurled the egg through the front window of the house he’d stopped at. The sound of breaking glass filled his body with warmth and a grin spread across his face – the tortoises had never stipulated how the eggs were to be delivered, had they? He picked up his basket and walked up to the front door of the next house, being careful to break the hollow eggs he was meant to deliver. He opened the letterbox slot and tipped the broken egg into the house, giggling as he did so. In the two hours since the tortoise had paid him a visit Peter had had a wonderful time exploiting loopholes in the Easter Bunny system. It turned out that as long as he didn’t question his role as the Easter Bunny or defecate inside the wrapping foil he wouldn’t interrupted by a clerk. It was strange considering everything else he was capable of, but he wasn’t going to question the system, he was going to work quite happily within the confines of the occupational prison in which he had been placed.

He stood proudly, hands on hips, and surveyed the street of broken windows, broken eggs and violated garden gnomes – no house had avoided his brilliance. It was as he was admiring his vandalism that he was crash-tackled by a pale yellow rabbit with wild eyes and terrible teeth. Peter let out a muffled yell and kicked at his assailant until he was free but didn’t go as far as pulling a knife because he recognised who it was. ‘Oh wow,’ he said, ‘it’s you. Time has not been kind.’

The broken rabbit that stood before him had seen better days, but those were long gone – all the bad days he’d seen since left their mark.

‘Hey, Pete,’ he said. ‘How you doin? Good? Good! Yeah I’m good. It’s good!’ Rabbit scratched at a bare patch in his mangy yellow fur as he bounced from foot to foot, a manic smile on his face.

Peter dusted himself off and stood up. ‘Yeah I’m good, Rabbit.’ He peered closer. ‘Good God, what have you done to yourself?’

‘Done to myself? Nothing, I’m good, always good. You good?’ Rabbit wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and Peter caught a glimpse of a white powder. He shook his head. Years of heavy drinking had given Rabbit a permanent case of jaundice which yellowed his fur, and an out-of-control cocaine habit gave his eyes a wild and bloodshot look that never seemed to go away. His constant manic behaviour made it unbearable to spend any length of time with him, but he seemed to crash into other people’s lives every few months, completely oblivious to any harm he might be causing.

Peter warily looked at his sort-of-friend. ‘Yeah. Yeah I’m good, Rabbit,’ he said again.

‘Good, good.’ Rabbit looked around conspiratorially. ‘So, got any coke?’

‘No. I never have any coke. I don’t do coke. YOU do coke, Rabbit, remember?’

‘Ah crap, yeah, I remember. Shit.’ Rabbit looked downcast for a second, but perked up immediately and said, ‘It’s ok though, I have some right here. You want some?’

Without waiting for Peter to respond, Rabbit tipped out a rough line on the back of his hand and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes for a second, gave another sniff, wiggled his nose, and opened his eyes again. They seemed to bulge out of his head. He stared at Peter, then at the basket at his side.

‘Oh ho, shit! You’re an Easter Bunny this year! Oh wow, that’s terrible news.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Peter.

‘Yeah, sucks what’s gonna happen, hey? Yeah, the tortoises must REALLY hate us, yeah? Want some coke?’

Peter usually zoned out when his jaundiced friend rabbited on, but, for whatever reason, he was listening this time. ‘What’s going to happen? You make it sound like something bad.’

‘Yeah, bad, terrible, really bad and horrible and bad,’ said Rabbit. ‘Come on, walk this way in case the street’s bugged.’

‘Bugged?’
‘Yeah, they have ears everywhere. They can see and hear and smell and taste everyone, man, can’t be too careful.’ Rabbit winked and tapped his nose. A small white clump fell out and landed on the pavement. In an instant Rabbit had plucked it up and tossed it into his mouth. ‘Can’t waste it!’

The pair walked in silence for five minutes along the dark street and, when it became apparent that Rabbit had forgotten why he was there, Peter turned to him and gave his scattered brain a nudge.

‘What’s going on, Rabbit? You’re more jittery than usual,’ said Peter as he continued to walk along the street. ‘You haven’t been kicked out of Hundred Acres again have you? That place was good for you.’

Rabbit shrugged and scratched at his nose, madly searching for a hidden, un-snorted stash. ‘Nah, wasn’t kicked out. Left. Too many pigs. Baby ones. Crazy bears too. Bears everywhere, man. Hopped up on the sweet stuff worse than me. Terrible people. Terrible. I’m no bigot, I love bears, some of my best friends are bears, but the bears there? Mannnnnnnn.’ Rabbit twirled his finger near his ear.

Peter walked on in silence for a bit, hoping Rabbit would pause for a second and get back on track. He didn’t, so Peter had to ask. ‘What’s going to happen, Rabbit? Something about tortoises.’

There was no response, so Peter glanced back and saw Rabbit standing under a streetlamp, stock-still, ears drooped down his back, arms slack at his side, mouth hanging open, eyes staring intently at the moths fluttering in the light.

‘Man,’ Rabbit started, ‘I’d love to be a moth. Just look at ‘em. Carefree and floaty-as. Not a care in the world.’

A moth flew too close to the broken light, caught fire and spiralled to the ground.

‘Cooooooooooooooooooool!’ Rabbit lay down on the ground and rested his head on the pavement, his eyes never leaving the smoking moth. ‘That’s gonna be us tomorrow, how cool is that?’

Finally! thought Peter, we’re getting to it.

‘What’s going to happen, Rabbit?’ he asked patiently.

Rabbit stood up so fast it made Peter jump. He held a finger to his lips and appeared to be listening for something. ‘Can you hear it?’
‘Hear what?’
‘Shhhhhhhhh!’ Rabbit waved Peter into silence. ‘He’ll hear you.’

‘Who will?’

‘It’s ok, he’s gone,’ said Rabbit, and he started walking down the street. Peter jogged to keep up. Even though Rabbit was making no sense, he had piqued his interest and he needed to get to the bottom of Rabbit’s stranger-than-usual behaviour. ‘Rabbit, stop. Tell me, what’s going on?’

Rabbit grinned and Peter could see several teeth missing. ‘The tortoises are gonna wipe us out. They sent Foo Foo; I heard it in the city tonight, so I came looking for you. You good? I’m good.’

Peter froze in his tracks. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? What’s that sell-out fuck got to do with anything?’

‘Everything, man. The tortoises have hired him to wipe out all the famous faces. They said that once they’re gone people will have no reason to like rabbits anymore. They’ll see them as vermin and finish what the shellies started,’ said Rabbit without blinking. He cracked a huge smile. ‘How mad is that? I’d hate to be a rabbit tomorrow. The tortoises REALLY hate ‘em.’

Peter was still frozen to the spot. He knew ‘Little Bunny’ Foo Foo’s story as well as everyone else. He knew that he was violent and unforgiving and that he’d had a run-in with a fairy which had left him bitter and even more unhinged.

‘Hey, Pete. You ok?’ Rabbit poked Peter in the ribs. ‘Want some coke? It’ll clear you right up. No? It’s ok, I’ll have some, you’ll be alright.’ Rabbit did another line off the back of his hand.

Peter’s brain stirred again, and he frowned. ‘I… you’re a rabbit too, Rabbit. You’ll be wiped out too.’

‘What? Oh, yeah, right. Yeah I’m a rabbit. I’m Rabbit. I’m friends with that bear and that pig and that fucking bouncing tiger. Everyone knows me!’

‘You’re a famous face,’ said Peter grimly.

‘What? Nah, I’m not famous. Everyone just knows me is all!’ Rabbit’s ears drooped further as his own words sank in and his eyes rolled in his head. He dropped to the ground. ‘OH SHIT,’ he wailed, ‘I’M FAMOUS! What am I gonna do? Where can I go? You gotta help me!’

Peter pushed Rabbit off of his shiny new waistcoat. ‘You hadn’t thought that through, had you? You’re probably more famous than the rest of us.’

‘Oh shit, this is bad, man, this is real bad, this is really bad,’ Rabbit buzzed.

As Rabbit pulled tufts of fur out of his arms in panic, Peter took a second to think. How the hell did coked-out Rabbit find out about this plan? Could it all be in his head? He turned and asked, ‘Rabbit, how do you know about this?’

Rabbit stopped tearing at his fur and looked up at Peter, his bloodshot eyes seemingly staring straight through the worried bunny. ‘Because I heard Foo Foo tell Brer before he spread him all over the pawn shop on the corner of 6^th and East Avenue with a shotgun. What are we gonna do? I need a hit of coke is what I need. Yeah, that’ll set me straight.’ Rabbit rummaged in his pockets for more cocaine, but found them empty and he burst into tears.

‘You saw Foo Foo gun down Brer Rabbit?’ asked Peter as Rabbit sobbed on the ground in front of him. ‘I think it’s bullshit. This is all some sort of drug trip you’re on. You didn’t see shit. Fuck’s sake, why do I believe this shit? You’re high off your tits, you mug me, you scare the piss out of me, and now you’re telling me Foo Foo is gunning for me. You’re probably just trying to trick me into giving you money. This is fucking stupid.’ Peter went to walk off, but Rabbit grabbed his waistcoat and held him back.

‘You gotta believe me man. Hell, if you want to hear it from someone else talk to the White Rabbit, he knows all about it.’

‘The White Rabbit? The one with the watch? He doesn’t exist. He’s a myth,’ said Peter, a frown still fixed firmly on his face.

‘He exists, man. Oh yeah he exists, you just gotta find him, see? That’s the trick. I’ll turn a trick, want me to turn a trick? I need my fix man.’ Rabbit wiped the tears away with one hand but maintained his imploring stare.

Peter pushed Rabbit away. ‘Even if White Rabbit did exist, what use is it to us?’

‘He’s mad-wise, man. He can solve any problem you want. He solved my friend Alice’s problems, remember? The chick who broke into the museum and crashed that tea party? He knows things, man.’

Peter stared into space. What choice did he have? If Rabbit was lying, which he probably was, all he would lose would be his time, and since he’d nearly finished all his deliveries, that didn’t matter. If Rabbit wasn’t lying however, it meant that his lovely new waistcoat would be filled with holes and that he’d develop a fatal allergy to lead sometime in the near future. He made up his mind and took a deep breath.

‘Ok, I’ll play along. I’ll meet White Rabbit if you can take me to him. Where is he?’

Rabbit got to his feet and smoothed his ears back. He grinned. ‘White Rabbit plays host at this sweet-as opium den about ten minutes away.’ Rabbit went running off down the street.

‘Oh that sneaky crackhead bastard,’ said Peter, accelerating down the street after Rabbit. ‘Now I have to chase a damn dragon as well.’

The Easter Bunny - Part Two

Brer Rabbit careered through the dingy alleyways, tipping rubbish bins over as he ran. Trying to be quiet at this point was useless; his pursuer knew exactly where he was, and all he could do was try to slow him down. A cat screamed at him as he threw aside the garbage bag it had been hiding behind. Brer tripped and landed face-first in a puddle but was up again in an instant, his feet scrambling frantically on the wet ground. He reached into the left pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small revolver; no easy task when running for one’s life. He reached into another pocket with his other hand, pulled out a small handful of rounds and set to work loading the diminutive chamber. Bullets spilled out of his hands as he sped towards the street lights at the end of alley, but he didn’t mind losing a few as long as he had a fully-loaded gun in his hand by the time he reached the streetlights. The rumble of a large motorcycle echoed through the alley behind him and he slowed down slightly to risk a glance over his shoulder. The silhouette of a helmeted head with two large ears poking out the back cast a colossal shadow on one of the buildings and Brer heart leapt to his throat. ‘Surely not,’ he thought. ‘Isn’t he one of ours?’ With renewed energy Brer burst out of the alley into the quiet main street, being careful to hide the gun back in his front pocket. There weren’t many late-night shoppers about, but it was well-lit, so his chances of survival were higher. As he ran past a pawn shop he snatched a large fur coat off a rack and threw it around his shoulders. It was distasteful for a rabbit to wear fur, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There are worse things to cover oneself in than mink – Brer knew that from experience. He slowed to a jog and crossed the street, intent on throwing his pursuer off the scent. How the hell did they find him?

Until earlier in the evening Brer rabbit could have been the poster child for the Witness Protection Program; he was living a new life with a new name in a new place every three months. Life was good and, for the most part, normal, if you ignored the fact that there was a large bounty on his head. The whole saga had started four years previously when Brer found himself unable to pay off debts to the Tar Baby, a particularly successful and violent loan shark. Brer had turned to Tar Baby for money after the banks had rejected his application for a boat loan, citing the insecure nature of Brer’s job as an insurance salesman. Tar Baby agreed to lend Brer the money for his boat on the condition that the money was paid back at a rate of twenty percent interest per month. Brer agreed on the spot and was soon the proud owner of his dream vessel. Shortly after the deal was struck a drought crippled the region and the river levels dropped, taking the fish stocks with them. Brer’s fishing business went under, and he was unable to maintain his loan payments, so Tar Baby sent a couple of goons around to Brer’s house to ‘rough him up’. Brer, beaten, bruised and terrified for his life, went straight to the feds the next day and offered to trade information on Tar Baby’s illegal dealings in return for protection. The feds agreed. The racketeering case against the Tar Baby had come to a standstill and they needed reliable witnesses to take it to trial. Brer was held in protective custody for a week before being spirited away to an undisclosed location in preparation for his entry into the Witness Protection Program. He stayed successfully hidden for four years.

Shortly before Easter during the fourth year Brer received a letter from the Tortoise Consortium congratulating him on his lottery ‘win’ and subsequent promotion to ‘Easter Bunny’. He did not know how the Consortium knew of his whereabouts, and he hated the idea of being the Easter Bunny, but he knew that he was species-bound to accept. Any rabbit that declined the ‘invitation’ disappeared permanently. Maybe it was time that had relaxed his guard, or maybe he felt that the threat of a cruel execution at the hands of Tar Baby had passed; whatever it was, Brer accepted the post of Easter Bunny.

The next day he was running for his life.

Brer glanced behind every couple of minutes, scanning the scant crowd for his pursuer. His fur coat hid his dirty mechanic’s overalls well, and its softness reminded him of his mother. She had been a good rabbit, and was taken from him too soon. Myxomatosis was a cruel disease. Brer sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye before stopping in a shallow alcove to light a cigarette. As he inhaled the pungent smoke a thudding rumble of a motorcycle filled the street. Some of the late night shoppers paused to look at the black and chrome beast, but most of them just continued about their business. Brer whipped around and saw the bike come tearing across the street towards him. All he could do was reach into his pocket and pull out his gun.

‘I don’t now who you are, but I swear, man, if you come any closer I’ll kill you!’ he yelled, his outstretched arm shaking. A deep laugh came from inside the rider’s helmet as he slowly took of his gloves to reveal large fluffy paws.

‘I swear I’ll shoot!’

The large paws rested on the bike’s fuel tank for a moment, and the helmeted head cocked to one side. ‘I don’t think you have the plums to pull that trigger,’ said the deep voice. Something about the tone triggered something deep within Brer’s brainstem, and he pissed himself.

‘Oh look what you’ve done now, Brer,’ said the helmet. ‘You’ve gone and ruined an expensive coat!’

Brer still had the gun pointed at the figure, but his hand was shaking so much that an accurate shot was out of the question. The rider’s paws moved up to the black helmet and slowly pulled it off. Two massive fluffy ears, their tips flopped over, sprang to attention as not-so-little Bunny Foo Foo’s face was revealed.

‘Oh Jesus fuck,’ whimpered Brer.

Foo Foo grinned. ‘What’s up, Brer? I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.’

Brer just whimpered. His whiskers were twitching like trees in a hurricane.

‘The tortoises would like me to pass on a message from Tar Baby.’

Something tweaked in Brer’s head and his brow furrowed. ‘Wait, what? The tortoises? What have they got to do with this?’

‘Oh, quite a bit. See, the Tar Baby paid them to rig the lottery to bring you out of hiding. Ingenious, really. I was paid quite well for that idea,’ said Foo Foo with a faint smile.

‘Oh you piece of shit,’ said Brer. ‘You’re working with the tortoises and Tar Baby?’

Foo Foo slowly clapped his massive paws together. ‘Well done.’ His booming voice seemed to fill the street.

‘Why? You’re one of us!’ Brer punctuated the statement by stabbing his gun in the air.
‘I know which way the wind is blowing, I’ve seen the writing on the wall. The tortoises were shamed and embarrassed by that stupid bet Basil made up years ago. Sure, they won the race in the end, but only by disqualification. They managed to make the result seem more honourable with their “Slow and steady wins the race” campaign.’ Foo Foo unzipped his leather jacket and pulled out a sawn-off shotgun. ‘Turns out they want to go even further than that though. They want to wipe out all the ‘famous faces’ in the rabbit population. They figure that once they’re gone, the public will have no reason to like us anymore.’

‘This is about a petty grudge?’

Foo Foo nodded.

‘But you’re one of the famous faces,’ said Brer.

‘I’m fully aware of that!’ snapped Foo Foo. ‘And I had a choice: I could either be ‘One with the Dodo’, or I could work with the tortoises. It wasn’t a hard decision to make – I fucking hate most of the famous faces. They draw attention away from me, from my stories, from my struggles! When this is over, I’ll be the last one standing. I’ll be the one that will be remembered.’

Brer’s shaking had calmed down while Foo Foo talked, and he was focusing every ounce of concentration on aiming the gun.

‘You’ll be remembered as a traitor!’ Brer pulled the trigger and a few things happened at once: the sound of the gunshot bounced off the tall buildings, frightened shoppers looked around for the source of the sound, Foo Foo moved slightly as the gun flashed, and Brer stood open-mouthed as he watched the bullet punch a hole in Foo Foo’s left ear. Foo Foo yelled out in pain and lunged at the high-beam switch on his bike. Bright light cascaded over Brer like a spotlight and he was frozen to the spot. Foo Foo raised his shotgun.

‘Like a rabbit caught in the headlights,’ he mused. The shotgun was louder that Brer’s handgun and made a much bigger mess too. Foo Foo took a photograph of the vaguely rabbit-shaped blood splatter on the wall for his client before picking up one of Brer’s paws. Foo Foo tapped the paw on his own paw and laughed. ‘Guess they’re not so lucky after all.’

He climbed back on his bike and took his time fitting his ears into his helmet. His left ear hurt like hell, but after examining it in the mirror decided that he liked the addition of a bullet hole – it made him look even scarier. The bike started with a rumble and the rider hummed ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo, riding through the forest…’ as he reversed the bike off of the footpath.

He put it in gear and roared off down the street.

The Easter Bunny - Part One

Peter walked with a limp and winced with every step. ‘Easter Bunny Lottery,’ he muttered as he set down his basket. ‘Stupid fucking idea.’ He sat down on a convenient log and rubbed his aching, blistered feet, cringing as he applied pressure. It was a few hours before dawn and he still had a long way to go before his work was finished. Sure, the job had its perks; the shiny new waistcoat with gold buttons was nice, but something didn't sit easy with him. The others thought the same way - there was something going on and none of them could work out what it was. Peter gingerly got to his feet and stretched his back before picking up his basket of chocolate eggs. He only made it a few steps before he tripped over a tree root. ‘God-fucking-dammit!’ he yelled to the sky as the eggs spilled out of the basket. ‘Why me?’

A sparkly sound filled the air as if in answer, and a spectacle-wearing tortoise appeared in mid-air. ‘Because you won the lottery,’ it said as it looked over a clipboard.

Peter got to his damaged feet and brushed the dirt from his waistcoat. ‘I know why me, but I don’t get why is has to be me. This is bullshit and you know it, tortoise.’

The tortoise smiled. ‘Tut tut, Peter, you know the rules.’

‘You’re an arsehole,’ growled Peter.

The tortoise cleared his throat. ‘Section III, paragraph seven: “Easter Bunnies shall not engage in profane behaviour or language which may cause distress to minors”.

‘I don’t care. I’m not doing it, you prick. This is bullshit. I refuse to do this anymore. I’m tired, I’m sore and I didn’t sign up for this. I swear, if you tell me to do it one more time I’ll take a shit inside every hollow egg and rewrap them. The kids won’t notice until it’s too late.’

The tortoise’s face turned mean. ‘Do that and you’ll get calicivirus’d.’

Peter’s face fell. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he said.

The tortoise grinned silently and looked at Peter over the top of his glasses.

Peter was nervous but put on a brave face. His whiskers hardly twitched at all. ‘How did it come to this, tortoise?’

‘You know exactly how, Peter. The previous owner was a terrible gambler, PLUS he was a cheat.’

‘He didn’t cheat! He was shrewd!’

‘No, he cheated. He substituted his runner with a narcoleptic hare at the last minute, and was subsequently disqualified, despite the hare losing anyway. So now we control the Easter Bunny Company and manage it how we see fit. The Selection Lottery model is just the first stage of our company-wide sweeping changes,’ said the tortoise.

‘And the lottery is random, is it?’ said Peter, arms crossed across his chest.

The tortoise scrunched its face. ‘Yes. It’s random, and I don’t appreciate your tone.’

‘It just strikes me as odd that this year’s Easter Bunnies are all well-known individuals.’

The tortoise continued to frown and made a mark on the sheet on his clipboard. ‘Lotteries are random. The results are random. You think that just because well-known rabbits are working together on the one night is a good reason to be suspicious?’

Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t say anything about it being “suspicious”.

‘Thinking something is odd is to think of something as “suspicious”. Do not put words in my mouth,’ said the tortoise.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. The tortoise was right about both things; the previous franchise owner was a terrible gambler and a drunk and an idiot, and just because well-known bunnies were on ‘duty’ tonight didn’t mean anything was wrong. Still, he didn’t like the direction the company was taking. The Tortoise Consortium was slowly running the place into the ground, and there was nothing the employees could do about it. Word on the street was that anyone who spoke up against management went to the Big Farm in the Sky.

An owl hooted somewhere overhead. Peter looked around and took a deep breath. ‘Fine. Whatever. No more questions, I’ll do my job, even though it sucks, but you’ll have to find a new Easter Bunny for next year.’

‘Oh of course,’ said the tortoise. ‘You know very well that’s how it works. Once you’ve been an Easter Bunny your name is permanently taken out of the lottery. You won’t ever have to do it again.’

Peter picked up the basket and started loading the eggs back into it. ‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said.

‘You’re a rabbit,’ said the tortoise, ‘Your species is jittery almost by definition. Good night. You will be finished by sunrise.’

The tortoise disappeared with a popping sound and glittery crap cascaded to the ground. ‘I hate that fucking tortoise,’ said Peter to the owl.

‘Hoot!’

‘Yeah, you said it.’ Peter brushed the last of the dead leaves off his knees and ambled off into the forest.