Behind the fur

The thick, heavy scent of the lake filled Peter’s nose. He inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air. The lake was small, ten feet at its’ deepest. Heavy boulders ran around the outskirts, separating the water from the thick forest to the east. At the south end of the lake, the small rolling hills began, and the the base was a small cave, which Peter sat in now. Peter was a handsome young man, thick black hair sat atop his head, hanging down to his hazel eyes. His jaw was prominent, and he appeared to be older than 16. He sat on the sand floor of the cave, remnants of an ancient river that once flowed through. By his feet sat two silver cages, one with a brown rabbit, one with a white. On Peter’s lefthand side lay his notebook and pen, on his right was his stainless hunting knife.

Peter picked up his notebook, and leafed through to a blank sheet. He wrote the date on top. He set it down once more and reached into his pocket, drawing out a thick, orange carrot. He broke it in half, giving one half to the brown rabbit, and one half to the white. The rabbits nibbled furiously, and Peter watched intently, smelling the cool air and listening to the serene sounds of the wildlife on the lake’s shore. He reached his slender arm forward and un-latched the white rabbit’s cage. The small animal leapt forward to Peter’s side, sniffing his pocket for more carrots. A smile broke out upon Peter’s face. He picked another carrot from his pocket, tossing it a short distance away. The rabbit bounded toward it, sniffing cautiously before biting chunk after chunk off of it. Peter got to his knees, studying the rabbit. He slowly moved forward, silently reaching toward the animal. He put his hand on it, feeling the soft fur, feeling its’ whole body move in perfect motion with itself.

He remembered his first pet. His father gave it to him for his birthday. It was a small cat, boy, whom he had named Jack. Jack was a black cat, with green slitted eyes. His fur was soft, almost as soft as the rabbit’s he now rubbed. The cat was very affectionate, while Peter was reading, Jack would come up to him, purring loudly, and rub against his leg. Peter would put down his book and cuddle the cat, enjoying the warmth it brought to his body-inside and out. He had Jack for years, and they grew ever closer. They were nearly inseparable. When Peter would go away on vacation, Jack would wait by the door for days on end, waiting for his friend to return.

It was the first thing that Peter had ever loved.

He came back to himself, as the rabbit finished the carrot. Peter picked up the rabbit and held it closely, trying to remember a time in his life that wasn’t in turmoil. The only thing he could think of was Jack. Four months after his father gave him the present, he was diagnosed with cancer. The family was devastated. Peter came home one day to find the house completely silent, not even Jack was in sight. He called out to anyone, yet, no one answered. He went to his parents room to find his father hanging from the ceiling fan, a note on his chest that simply said ‘I’m sorry.’

They moved houses after that, but Peter was never the same. His brother moved out, and joined the army. Never sent a letter home, and they had no idea what had happened to him. That just left him and his mother, and she tried as best as she could to keep a close relationship with him. They had dinner together every night, talked about their day, and what they hoped to happen.

Jack had died. During the move, he stayed in the car with Peter. But once they arrived at the new house, Jack seemed to grow confused. He wouldn’t go inside, and it seemed as if he was growing distant. One day, Peter came home from school, and watched as Jack crossed the road to greet him and was struck by a minivan. The minivan didn’t stop, it just rolled right over, and kept going, as if nothing had happened.

Peter looked at the rabbit. It seemed content in his arms, breathing rapidly, chest moving visibly, but it wasn’t scared. Death seemed to follow Peter, no matter where he went. He had learned long ago not to be afraid, but to welcome Death. He set the rabbit down, and with a swift motion, cut a clean line through the rabbit’s throat.

The rabbit didn’t squeal, it didn’t panic, it merely laid down, and waited. It’s pupils dilated, as the crimson blood stained the sand below, as well as its’ white coat. It patiently waited for the inevitable.

Peter thought that it was wise. All life should take note of this creature’s reaction to death, patience. He picked up his notebook and sat down once more, extending his legs. He wrote notes, looking to the dying rabbit every so often. Its’ body convulsed for a few seconds before taking a shuddering, final breath. The panic light in the rabbit’s eyes faded, and it grew unearthly still, the blood no longer dripping.

Peter looked at his watch. 5:30 on the dot. Just enough time to walk home. He stood up and began to walk out, but stopped suddenly. He turned again to look at the corpse of the rabbit. It wasn’t guilt, or kindness that made him turn back, but pity. He knelt again, and felt the fur. No longer soft and full of life, it was now coarse, sticky, and it reeked of death. He stood up again and kicked a pile of sand on top of the corpse. He wiped his knife on his jeans and put it into it’s sheath. 

He picked up the brown rabbit, as well as empty cage, and started to the mouth of the cave. He looked at the brown rabbit, walking the cage, sniffing the air, and Peter sensed the naivete coming off of it. He set the cage down again, pulling up on the latch. The rabbit escaped slowly, munching grass as it went. And in that moment, among the water, trees, grass, and life, Peter realized that life could be beautiful. He smiled once again. He took the rabbit into his arms once more and held it for a moment.

He set the corpse softly to the ground, cleaning his knife once more. Peter had saved the rabbit from a hopeless life, full of worry and pain. As he started toward his home, he thought not of regret, or guilt, nothing of a weighted conscience. His only thought was ‘I wonder what is for dinner. I’m starving.’