May the Bunny bring you boundless balls of yummy badness :)
Happy Easter everyone!
The Easter Bunny (Part 1)
The thick wet vegetation slaps at my bare arms as I slowly pull myself through the marsh. It’s painfully slow going, but I must push on. My backpack tugs at my shoulders, heavy from the water it’s absorbed and the canisters of chemicals it’s carrying.
A jumble of roots catches my foot and I almost topple into the tepid, foul water. The weighty leather strap slips down my arm as I struggle to find my balance. I groan and uncomfortably roll my shoulders to reseat the heavy smoking weapon that hangs to my side, balanced and always ready. And I move on.
Despite my weariness, I remain alert. I must. All too clearly, I remember the day they arrived. The smoking fireball arcing across the sky, hissing and spitting fire and ash and sulphur as it came. I remember the smouldering scrawl of earth that ran for kilometres as the ball of burning metal sliced a long deep wound into the flesh of the country-side.
And I remember the people. The crowds of people. The crowds that collected at the rim of the crater, some silent, some scared, some excited, some wary. But all of them stared; through the thick pall of acrid smoke they stared. And then they died.
I remember the screaming. The horrible horrible screaming. The sighs of gurgling blood as their throats were torn from their necks. The feral panic. The wild, mad eyes. The primal instinct to run, to flee and to survive. And like rabbits they ran, scattering in all directions, screaming and crying and running. But death followed close behind, shredding their bodies as they fell.
And from my solitary position on top of the hill, I saw her. The pale white delicate dress she had unwrapped just that morning, flowing behind her like a silent sail. And I saw her fall. The slashing fangs, the tearing cloth, the frenzied ripping cries of pain. And then silence. Total silence, as the long dark crooked stains of life spread slowly over her lifeless dress.
I have no idea how much time passed. I only remember it was dark when I lifted her body into my car and drove her home.
Easter Sunday. The day of hope. The day of Resurrection. The day my wife died. And the day the Easter Bunnies arrived and everything changed.
I grip the slippery butt of my weapon tighter, and squint into the low sun. Five years on to the day. The world is a very different place now, but I have learnt a lot since that fateful day. Today will be the start of a something new. Today will be mine. Today the Bunnies will die.