I am the last of my kind. The very last.
By that, I don't mean there are no other upright talking beasts of my ilk; there could well be, but I've yet to meet any. Besides I don't really talk much anymore ... not these days.
No, what I'm referring to when I say my kind, are those like me ... old friends, old acquaintances, even rivals - we came in all shapes and sizes and we all clustered together. Technically they're still together and they are mostly all still alive ... they're just not them anymore.
Ok, I guess if there is anyone hearing this on some level of reality, I should probably explain. I am a Loony ... that's figuratively speaking. We were a tight knit community that chose in the main, to relocate to a suburb of Myth Vegas, when we found ourselves in the Mythlands, oh so long ago. We called that happy place Loonytown and we Loonies were ... well, let's just say our lives were full of hijinks and fun and good spirited smacking each other round the heads with mallets.
Funny though, I was always miserable and considered myself one of life's losers - but it took losing that life for real to realise just how good I had it.
When the forces of evil swept through our lands half a decade back, we were sort of on the fringes but not exactly unaffected. Somebody ... we still don't know who, somebody dropped the bomb on us. Not exactly right on top, but out in the desert - some kind of neutron bomb with god knows what kind of radiation. It didn't quite reach the centre proper and the city sealed itself off, but my home was devastated. Those Loonytown residents who survived became mad ... every single last one of them, except me.
I don't know why the almighty god in the sky waved his pen at me and spared me ... some days I wish he hadn't. But he did and I watched as everyone I knew and loved turned into true lunatics. At first I went unnoticed scavenging around in the ruins - my body had always been painfully thin and I didn't need much to survive - I eeked out a minimal subsistence, eating roots and the pulp from cactuses. One day I came across the corpse of a wolf and although he was the four legged kind, I am ashamed to say I didn't stop to ask if he had been sentient, a talking fellow ... with tears in my eyes I consumed his flesh. I will always wonder if I ate a talking beast.
Soon after that I took my gun ... the one I found at the beginning, the one I kept for protection, although it would have broken my heart to turn it on one of my friends, even after they did turn against me. I took that gun and I put it in my mouth and I cried out to the god with the pen. 'Why oh creator have you forsaken me? Was the wolf a talking beast? Do I deserve to die and be damned. Send me a sign!'
I was seconds away from killing myself when they attacked. I could have let it happen or I could have pulled that trigger and blown my brains out. I could have stood in the way of the Martian's ray gun and I could have let the whirling devil tear me apart, but I didn't. Something inside me screamed at me to move, to run, to live ... I had my answer. The ink penned god had spoken and I knew I was just a cog in the machinery of his plan, but I had my part to play.
As if that wasn't enough, as I outpaced the howling mob and saw the shimmering light of the desert and freedom before me, it was then that HE appeared ... my enemy, my rival ... the one being I was closest to. The runner.
He was ahead of me, to the side. He saw me clearly with his large bright eyes - a moment was all it would have taken for him to run me down, to restrain me or slash at me with his beak ... but he didn't. He just stood and watched and I croaked out my thanks to my enemy, my friend. Those were the last words I ever spoke ... I can't voice my thoughts anymore. Hare says it's because I am suffering from trauma, but he was only repeating what Cottontail told him.
She and a bunch of the Rabbitz found me dying in the desert. I thought they would kill me but that girl is an angel - she knelt by me and stroked the fur of my brow; she lifted my head and dripped water onto my parched lips and she told me I could rest and that everything was going to be alright.
The Rabbitz weren't my people but they took me in and they treated me as an equal. If I could talk I would tell Hare that I would die for him and I would tell Cottontail I loved her ... not in that way, I had a woman once but that was long ago and my heart could not bear more pain. Cottontail is my sister and all the Rabbitz are my brothers.
So when Hare told us of his past self's mission and asked for volunteers to go north, I stepped forward. If the past Hare can prevent all this, I will die for him too.
We left ten hours ago and now I know the purpose of my god's maze ... he led me through until finally I could see the centre. We are approaching the end of the desert and some of us will turn back, but I'll keep on going, to the Magic Forrest and beyond.
I am the last Loony. My name is Wiley and this is my testament.