Laced Rabbit - Collegian

Laced Rabbit – Collegian

Our story begins with a child named Noah Anderson. I’m sorry to say: no one was special. He was just a child of a politician and a whore.

The kid knows the teddy bear isn’t real, yet he treats it like it’s real, even squawking miserably when it rips. The charming side of a child is making the unreal a reality. This is a lucky youthful stage in life. Love is nullified by the absence of sex, and reality is nullified by theatrical play, treating the game as real when it is not.

Seven days after turning four, I missed a step and landed on the wooden staircase of my house. Sharp pain – I rubbed my forehead and saw blood run down my fingertips. The sensation dug his hot white nails into my skull. My father came out of the living room to see me cry from my eyes. The mother was called from her usual grand meetings, and when she arrived, the father went out to meet her. She came in through the doorway without taking off her shoes, looked at me, and handed a thick paper envelope to my father. He stared at her, her lips slightly parted. She went out of the house to her car. My eyes fell back to the back of the red Holden as it drove away from us. I wondered what you were to her. Am I just pranking her? – a burden? – A producer to maintain the illusion of perfection in the public eye?


A golden flame shot out over the sleeping city. Dawn rose over the slopes of the mountain. Sunrise, a glowing dome, radiating waves of heat, draining every drop of moisture from my dry lips. Early summer: I pulled out the coolest dress from my older sister’s wardrobe—the dress in those beautiful, vibrant colors. This would be the first time I had ever set foot in a mother’s meeting and my hired maternal aunt had told me to wear a uniform for the occasion. Featured on my mom’s old pendant necklace. The delicate silver chain was hanging around my neck with a row of five dainty Creole stones in front. I searched through my mom’s belongings, threw away cosmetics, jewelry, and anything else that caught my eye.

Wrapping myself in a twinkling sparkling sapphire, the doors to the large living room opened, and I couldn’t contain my excitement. “a look!” She cried, “Look at me!”. My mother and sister were sitting on the sofa with a guest. The mother cast a questioning look at the aunt, and she nodded with a shy look on her face. The visitor’s face turned pale. They hollowed out my absent-mindedness, and grabbed my sister’s face. Our eyes met and she understood. Tears clouded my eyes.

After I fixed my tie, I noticed how the suit and jacket dangled from my frame, as if they were tailored for a body other than my own. After the applause, the flocks of sheep trotted outside the large slaughterhouse. I was chatting in the corner, waiting for my aunt to find me. Behind me are the voices of my mother’s closest friends criticizing her inappropriate opening, anger highlighting their insults. Their arguments popped up among the other speakers and floated in my ears. When the men snuck into the house, they went to our salon and told the mother with genuine smiles on their faces how “the conference was a huge success!” When the father asked about the meeting, even the servants replied, “Really interesting!” , dressed in a facade of a false originality, as if the ideas were of their own volition. These are the same servants who complained bitterly of the boredom of political gatherings on their way home.


We were all bound by an invisible thread. But they became immersed in their roles, and the facade became a reality.

Theatrical play: a dramatic work. The characters fell for each other. The characters were to be with each other. Casting off the prying eyes of the audience, actors will heal and stay true to themselves. The father’s sincere smile was accompanied by sincere eyes; The mother’s icy exterior has melted. Instead of her usual indifferent and unresponsive behavior towards him, the mother began to admit that the father is part of the family and not just another actor. I brought him a snow bunny with a rose tied on his back. That was the first and last time she gave him something.

A foul odor signaled her arrival. When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by white smoke. The stench of her self-destructive habits – and yet I can’t help but feel comfortable in her presence. Rest calmed me, as the chronic tension that plagued my temples waned. Crashing on the floor near her work desk, she was lighting a cigarette and carrying a match when she died. It was a very frustrating way to go. Although society rarely makes judgments about how someone dies. My eyes wandered to the rose near the frosty windowsill and watched the crimson petals fall to the ground.

Father gave it to her.

He was a whore. I never felt the closeness a son should have for his father. Occupation: glass partition wall. Night after night you stumble into the house, long after the moon rises from the dark clouds. After her mother’s funeral, her place was taken by officials who were thinking about her. Every summer when I came home for the holidays, I would often see my father sitting and listening to the crickets sing. I often found myself slipping into…a strange sad feeling. With the screaming of these insects, I felt as if sadness had crept into my heart. The father will remain still, as if thinking about his loneliness.

From the corner of my left eye, I noticed a ball of fluffy white fur. her gift. Even though the blankets were wrapped around me, I could feel chills running down my spine. a feeling of crawling on my skin; The faint sound of teeth grinding. I was bored by his bloody eyes at the back of my head, squeezing air out of my lungs with just one look. reflection. That cold, indifferent look. I saw her. Her image in the eyes of a rabbit. The eruption of emotions – anger, resentment, remorse – strangled me with his bare hands. Like a programmed robot, I reached out and grabbed the fur from behind her neck. The anxiety was a rapidly expanding balloon inside my chest, squeezing my ribs, threatening to burst. My fingers clenched together vigorously, buzzing in the air, a throbbing pulse. Stop struggling.

With a sterilized blade in my hand, I cut an inch-long slit in the flesh above each of his hind legs. I pulled the skin towards the rabbit’s back and removed it from its entire leg. I put it on my pillow and watched the blade draw a red line from his stomach to his neck. The blade slid through the skin – millimeters from the gut hole – the elegant dragonfly on the water. I grabbed the skin tightly, pulling it towards the head. His soft white coat slipped off his body and got stuck to the head. I cut a Christmas cookie in half.

Strange feeling: a wide hole burning through the curtain that once protected my morals. You consumed me like wildfire.

Her beauty is like red petals; Her nerves are like malicious thorns. But she is now dead. I stared at the withered flower by the father’s window. An idea as miraculous and bitter as the wind of winter. I bounced from here to there, rearranging the contents of my head like rabbits in a barren garden. Slowly the realization began, and like a fierce spear, it pierced me: she did not hate me at first. Instead, she was desperately trying to convince me that she wasn’t someone I should rely on. He is constrained by the harsh dichotomy between denial and acceptance. She refused to accept the intimacy of others on a deeper level because she despised herself, displaying her own feelings of inadequacy to anyone else. Although her beauty was respected by everyone around her, she did not see it once in herself. Sinking herself with thorns as if she could protect her from the rest of the world – but nothing could protect her from herself. I feel pity for her.

From the corner of my right eye, I noticed a ball of fluffy white fur.

He is alive.

Written by Vanessa Lee and Editing by Emma Reddy. Published on 09/05/2022. Title photo by Mabel Zhang.

#Laced #Rabbit #Collegian

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