"Papa used ta tell me never to talk ta Strangers, but I like strangers. The stranger the better; they're my friends. I talked to stangers all the time. Papa didn't like that and now I don't talk at all. Neither does Papa, though, so it's okay."
The Beginning for The Rabbit
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The hum of a fan and a girl mingled together in the heat of an August room. Scraps of paper, animal furs, and empty glue bottles littered the table and floor. She worked quietly and meticulously. Every now and again there would be a gentle knock at the door, but every time she would think in her head very hard, "Go away!" And they went away. They knew better than to not listen to her. She was, after all, Papa's favourite. Not only that, but she was the only one that knew how to read. Isn't that something?
Beads of sweat began to form on the back of her neck. The setting sun shone through the window like light through a magnifying glass and it burned her. It burned her skin and her mind, but she kept working.
Papa would be so proud. Look, Papa, I can make things too. She glanced at the giant mound in the corner of the room, a thick coat of triumph painted on her face like a geisha girl. She had made so many things today, so many things.
With a push of a needle and the snip of scissors, she finished her projects. Carefully she pushed out her chair. The feet scraped against the wood floor, leaving marks and a sound that was music to her ears. She loved making things, she loved it very much. Music, crafts, emotions, changes, she loved making them all. August 13th marked the day she made the most things and the biggest things.
She gently picked up her projects from the table. Pieces of fur remained stuck to the wood and she scratched them with her fingernail before stepping back and pushing her chair in.
With every step she took towards The Corner, her maryjanes made a satisfying "clack" against the hardwood. Ten steps away and she could start to hear the buzzing. She had to close the window or more of them would get in and that would just be No Good, that's why she had the fan.
Look Papa, she thought, I made us both something.
She knelt down, careful not to let her white stockings touch the floor--that would be a mess to clean. She let exactly thirteen seconds of white noise go by, no noise except for the hum of the fan, the buzz of the flies, and the rapid beating of her too-tiny heart. After that, she could proceed.
You know, Papa, I never liked how you could always tell what I was thinkin' just from lookin' at my face. I could always tell what you were thinkin', but you were never really thinkin' much. Now you don't think at all, do ya? It's only fair considerin' how you only let me think.
I just wanted friends, Papa. You never let me have friends, but I made some anyway. You made The Strangers, but I made The Strangers my friends. You made me, and I made you too. I made you dead, Papa. I made you dead and now you can't hurt us no more or make anybody else.
I guess I should give you your present now. I made us matchin' ones since I was always your Little One.
She gently placed her project on Papa's cold face, taking the ribbon from either side and tying it in a neat bow on the back of his head. The mask was a perfect fit. His glossy eyes shone through the almond-shaped slits and she was happy that was the only thing you could see of him. It would look even better on her, red eyes alive and alert. The soft muzzle of the mask protruded slightly from the rest and two furry ears stuck up above his head.
You look so good, Papa. Now me.
She stood carefully, paying extra attention as to not accidentally stain her clothing with the mess on the floor. Her shoes lifted from the hardwood with a quiet "shluck" as she made her way to the vanity on the opposite end of the room, leaving red prints in her wake. The mask was warm in her hands, inviting. Once in front of the vanity, she closed her eyes. She wanted her new identity to be a surprise, even to herself. The ribbon was easily manipulated, tying easily into a delicate bow that fell in with her curls at the back of her head. She opened her eyes. She grinned, but she couldn't tell, and she liked that more than anything.
I am The Rabbit, Papa. You are no more.
