The air was very humid and the sky, therapeutically calm. A column of soldier ants went about their business dutifully and quite oblivious of the armadillo that recently moved to the neighborhood. Just out of sight, a hungry spider stalked a wounded wasp.
The rabbit emerged from his warren with uncertainty and surveyed the scenery with unease. Quickly and nimbly, he hopped to the cluster of mugamuga shrubs, which were very plentiful in his part of the gondwana forest. Instantly, he was flooded with an awe-inspiring sense of safety. Indeed, he felt very secure because rabbit-legend had it that, any rabbit that took refuge under the mugamuga shrubs was protected by the great rabbit-god, muga.
These were dangerous times. The rabbit knew he had to tread with extreme caution. They were hard times too. Carrots were a luxury and radishes were not as abundant as before.
The flutter in his chest died down but he waited for the wooziness in his head to go down as well. He had learnt his lessons well during training and he knew that a lightheaded rabbit-hunter was as good as a dead one. It was axiomatic.
Soon, he was clear-headed. He uttered a quick prayer to muga and left the shelter of the mugamuga shrubs. He knew where he was going, and moved with the grace and litheness of a seasoned gondwanese hunter-rabbit. The radish farm was so far away and he was already beginning to breathe very hard. By the beard of the were-rabbit, he was really losing his touch. Just a few rabbit-moons ago, he could hop on the spot for an entire hour and wouldn’t even lose a breath. The oversexed she-rabbits used to peep while he did his hops and he would pretend he didn’t know they were watching. And he wouldn’t waste any opportunity then to strut his stuff. Why spoil their voyeurism? Those were good times. He smiled. He was indubitably the baddest rabbit on the block.
Suddenly, the smell of radishes hit him. It was overwhelmingly superior to any radish he had ever smelt. His stomach rumbled in response. Dear rabbit-god! He was getting dizzy and his knees were as weak as those of a love struck he-rabbit sporting a goatee. He struggled to get control. He knew he needed it. Mightier hunter-rabbits had lost control at this stage and paid dearly for their mistakes.
He took a deep breath and took his mind off the overpowering smell. If he must get those radishes safely then he must be at his optimum. Quickly, he laid out a strategic plan. The steps were very clear in his head. Discipline must be his watchword.
After much painstaking planning and lightning execution he got to the radishes. He reached out lovingly and dug up a very edible piece. He nibbled lightly on it. It was as soft as the inside of a kitten’s mouth. The earth shook and he had a rabbit-orgasm. It tasted just as he had imagined. He took another bite for the hell of it and marveled at the particularly good texture of the radish. Also, he felt a growing respect for his hunting prowess and was humbled by it all.
At the same time, a hungry spider gnawed away at the juicy abdomen of a stunned wasp while a baby armadillo delightedly lick off an erstwhile organized column of soldier ants.
Just then, the rabbit looked up froze. The expression on his face was what rabbit folk would call rabbit-fear. Dripping rabbit penis!! He swore.
There was no one to explain to the rabbit that the man kneeling down a few yards away was pointing a snub nosed automatic pangaean piece at him. The rabbit’s heart missed a beat. And before it could resume beating, a bullet tore through it.