Roadkill

It was a rainy night but a familiar road by the old heath. Desmond drove the 1985 Volkswagen sitting comfortably, warm and dry, watching the wipers sweeping across the windscreen. The rain was not heavy and the raindrops flickered briefly as they were caught by the car's lights. The night was otherwise clear and a bright moon shone through the trees making the wet road surface gleam.

Turning the corner, the road ahead was clear and straight as far as he could see, but for a small object almost centrally placed. Partly illuminated by the headlights, partly by the moon's light coming at an angle through the trees, the object appeared in silhouette: small with a furry roundness to it, two big ears sticking up perkily from its head almost uniquely identified it at once. It looked a little ridiculous, a little pathetic.

Rabbit - candidate for ROADKILL!

Trapped by the headlights it could not possibly understand, hypnotized by the juggernaught of doom's illuminated glory bearing down upon it, the small helpless form appeared transfixed. Desmond saw the target, clear and easy. It was not necessary, but a cruel need took over, his foot pressed down on the accelerator and his heart began to sing with a strange excitement.

We all have some personal belief of how the universe is organized. In most cases this belief is relatively simple and simple rules are thought to apply. The universe, of course, is not organized at all - everything just fits together - all those pieces are just in the right place for them to be. Some of those pieces are very strange indeed. Every now and again one of those pieces floats unexpectedly into view.

As Desmond, safe inside his metal monster, bore down upon the helpless creature, his eyes suddenly caught an unexpected tinge of red in the fur. It was the first indication that something was seriously wrong with the scenario, though it hardly indicated exactly what that might be. The next moment Desmond recognized something which never before, within the compass of his understanding, had he ever dreamed or imagined - some things you only need to see once and you intuitively know what they are. Amazed with horror at his sudden knowledge, he thrust his foot down hard onto the brake - too late, of course.

It was no terrified rabbit's stare held in the headlights glare: this was a rabbit with attitude. What Desmond had intuitively recognized was the uncompromising, unwavering, fixed gaze of the pink fluffy bunny of death.