Bunny

foUR

Hunger was becoming the main problem after the second day in the halls. Gone was the lunch from the bag and any morsels of snacks that had been collected from among assorted debris such as crumpled quizzes, or broken pens and pencils. All these things had been part of daily life but disregarded, ignored, like the brain stops seeing the nose since it is an unchanging object in the field of vision.

Now they took on a new quality of freshness. All these objects were considered for their potential usefulness-survival in the halls had become a somewhat thrilling mission, like childhood fantasies of living on a deserted island and building everything by hand from a few palm trees, though never having had any experience with building, or cutting down trees, for that matter. A feeble Robinson Crusoe dream had been there from the very beginnings of childhood: something about the idea of inner strength or self-sufficiency might have been attractive, and there was something almost intoxicating about the idea of being alone and being able to speak all thoughts, with no one else around to pass judgment. The mental voices roared in approval at the thought of being freed, left to bounce around the walls, debating out loud, rather than trapped in the circuit of a closed mind that was trying hard to keep quiet and seem normal for everybody else's sake.

But survival was only fun until it became real. Robinson Crusoe had only been an idea, and when it now came to the horrible, gnawing feeling, like a thousand rats trying to escape through soft skin stretched tight over a protesting abdomen, something entirely different took over. It was as though the animal within had been waiting for its chance to stretch out its legs, yawn, and come roaring to life, lithe muscles rippling underneath a smooth coat of shiny, midnight-dark fur. The Animal rose to life now, awoken by hunger, hunger of the kind that had never been felt by the pampered Person who had relied on three meals every day of the Person's pitiful, soft life.

The Animal commanded the Person's body to drop to all fours, knuckles scraping along the irregular floor, disregarding the small scratches that were being torn into skin, the fabric on knees slowly wasting away from this primitive form of movement. The smells suddenly exploded into a symphony, a bouquet of rich information, which the Animal now took in, trying to locate one that might mean fresh meat.

Whatever was left of the Person could hardly protest, in awe of the Animal's power. But when a particularly nasty patch of ground drew blood from a knee, a small whimper of protest arose, stopping the Animal in its tracks. The Person, now in control for a moment, wondered about the sudden appearance of the Animal. The Animal was feral, true, but it was powerful. It was alive, and triumphantly so: it didn't apologize for its hunger, for its urges, for its lack of decorum, it only searched for sustenance then rested. It was the most basic form of existence. This, the mind-voice said, was the goal: this was true erasing of the self. This was loss of identity.

"Do you have a nickname, or something? I feel strange about not calling you something," the brown-haired person sighed.

Replies were never given, and the person had taken to creating a new near-constant narration. This was comforting, in a way: this could be easily understood. Faced with silence, the civilized mind panics, seeks to fill it. Thoughts begin to run at lightning speed, and when the first cracks appear in the person, then the thoughts begin to spill out in the form of incoherent babble. At first it is awkward, self-conscious.

"Hopefully you don't mind all this chatter, it's just that quiet rooms are always a little creepy... Well, if I'm bothering you, nod your head or something, I'll quiet down, I won't mind."

Then the initial clumsiness wanes, and the thoughts pour out freely now: there is no filter between the running mind and the mouth that acts as a passage for these to go to the outside world.

"Your eyes are so pretty. They're a lot like Willem's. When we'd just met, a huge smile used to spread across his face as soon as he saw me. His entire face would crinkle up from the smiling, and there were his smiling eyes. That's what made me take interest in him, in the end. Those eyes."

The next step was inevitably the truth, the anguished confession that came after all other acceptable niceties had been exhausted and all that was left was the raw, pulsing core of the problem, the real problem, whatever it was that couldn't be ignored and that consumed all other thoughts, the obsession covered up by denial. Beneath every person's normal, healthy thoughts is a poisoned river of doubts and fear and trauma, and after all the nice thoughts have been spoken aloud, the tap keeps running only to spew that decaying liquid, exposing what was really there all along.

"-I just know he's cheating, and I can't say anything because he's forgiven me so many times for hiding things from him, serious things, and there's a reason his side of the family doesn't talk to me anymore. I can't risk losing him, I can't. I need him. Have you ever needed someone? Have you ever realized that your every breath, that your continued existence, that all meaning your life might have had, that it all depends on one single person, a person with a free will that could just get up and leave you at any minute? Have you?"

"Yes."

The voice was a surprise and the person jumped, nearly falling out of the chair. The person had forgotten that someone else was there, and had taken to talking as though the empty room were the only one hearing the confidences.

"Who?" the person whispered, though an idea was already forming.

Willem's eyes closed on that face that did not belong to Willem, and it was plain to see that there would be no answer spoken. Now that all the thoughts had been poured out, the person felt exposed, suddenly. There was no cushion of random, unrelated thoughts to hide the core of the problem, the primal fear of abandonment gripping that frenzied mind.

Searching for another, more pleasant thought, finally it settled on the question that was spreading through the hospital staff like wildfire: who was Bunny?