Disclaimer: The Trix Rabbit, The Pit and the Pendulum, and Little Shop of Horrors are all owned by their respective owners, along with anything else in this story, except for the plot.

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“…The blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I struggled for breath. The intensity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The atmosphere was intolerable close. I lay still quietly…”

-The Pit and the Pendulum, Edgar Allan Poe

Part 1

          Some people believe in fate. Some people don’t. It’s all a matter of choice.

                   But if there is some fate, it definitely does not like me. Or perhaps my Ch’I is bad. You wonder why I think this? Because I believe Fate put Them here. It gave Them the purpose of effortlessly thwarting all my tactics to attain the sole entity I crave. It’s not as much that I can’t possess it but more about how They play with me, as a cat does with a mouse.

          They allow me to acquire the object I desire most and to bask in the out-of-reach dream of Paradise. Then They wrench it away cruelly, leaving me cold and empty.

          And if this was not a bad enough plight, They are everywhere. My dreams and my nightmares, every waking second and in my thoughts. Their faces loom vast and intimidating. They banter amongst themselves about me, always about me. They joke as if I exist only for their amusement and nothing else. A helpless, ignorant fool placed on earth for none other than to have other’s snicker and scorn at it’s pathetic attempts to obtain Paradise.

          They laugh endlessly.

          Finally I tried so hard to appease Them, it backfired somewhere along the way and They got scared. They locked me up in this impossible hellhole of a place.

          They damned me to eternity here.

          So I’ve had a lot of time to think. At first I thought it was my fault for being so foolish and childish. But then I realized that I never would have looked so childish and frenzies if I had not had to struggle so hard. I worked it out in my head, fixing kinks, and supplying answers even where there were none. And when I was finished I repeated it over and over until I believed it heart and soul.

          They made me feel low and used.

Pathetic and trivial.

As if I existed only for their enjoyment.

And first and foremost, They kept Paradise and my precious desire away.

And for that They will have to pay.

Dearly.

Maybe even with their lives.

They may ask why and I will say…

                             Because

                                  I

                                           Am

                                                     The

                                                              Rabbit.

              And I will have my Trix.

“… The human race suddenly encountered a deadly threat to its very existence, and this terrifying enemy surfaced, as such enemies often do, in the seeming most innocent and unlikely of places!”

-Little Shop of Horrors, musical

Part 2

          On the second Sunday of April, when most children would wake from dreams to see Peter Cottontail hopping down a bunny trail, Easter egg hunts, and chocolate candy, a group of five people woke up expecting a normal day, complete with a feast. However, when they stepped out of their mansion-size houses in bathrobes and slippers to retrieve the local newspaper and stock market news, they found instead a huge foil-wrapped egg on their porch. In unknown synchronized movement, they each bent down, lifted the egg up and passed back over the threshold into their house, newspapers temporarily forgotten.  

          Willa, one of the bamboozled five, deposited the egg on the oak table in the foyer before hesitantly stepping back outside to grab the original reason for this mission- the newspapers. Having done this, she set them slowly down next to the mysterious egg.

          She slowly unwrapped the unexplained object from its confining foil wrap. It’s chocolate shell was covered in intoxicating geometric figures, characteristic of early Native Americans. She split the two halves apart the help of a knife and then carefully spread the two halves out, searching for a hidden agenda or message. Finding nothing, she broke off a piece of the shell and carefully chewed, delighted by the strange blend of cinnamon, chocolate, and something unidentifiable. She frowned when she chewed on something that had the substance of jerky yet didn’t taste at all like it. More like piquant blood.

          She broke off another piece, then another. Soon she had eaten half the egg. She eagerly fell upon the other piece with ravish, impatient to taste more of the strange blend. She hurriedly popped of another chunk and the newly rising sun cast a dusty glow upon the rich brown candy. The inside that she had not observed closely, was covered with scabs.

          She dropped the piece as if it was a hissing serpent and staggered back a few paces, as if afraid it would attack.  She hit the wall and stood there, until her head spun and her knees gave out, and she crashed to the floor.

          She was rushed to the hospital, but nothing could be done- there was no cure available for the virus she had contracted. First she showed flu-like symptoms: fever, nausea, vomiting, headache and backache. She twisted in agony when the pain rampaged her abdomen and became dazed and disorientated. Her family could not bear to look at her in her final days when hideous small invading sores covered her skin. She hailed death with willing arms.

~*~

          Gavril, a male-chauvinist pig who tended to indulge himself in luxuries than he should, took a different step. He bypassed the egg, sparing a second’s glance, then continuing on his way down the driveway. He bent over and daintily picked up the newspapers, making sure not to let any of the “impure” surfaces touch his god-like skin.

          His nose held high, he called his maid into the parlor.

          “Annette, I want you to go outside, pick up the foil-wrapped package and bring it in here.” Annette nodded her assent, then scurried off, muttering several comments under her breath which suspiciously sounded like, “Couldn’t get it yourself, could you? No, it’s time to call little slave Annie to do it for you, the swine.” Several more insults followed, but she hurried out the door none-the-less, bent over and brought the egg into the parlor for the majesty to inspect.

          He dismissed her with a wave of the hand, dismissing her help all together. He tore upon the wrapper, barely paused to admire the intricate scrolls and curls, and dismayed there was no easy way to get it open, impatiently called Annette back in.

          “Open this now.” He demanded, gesturing towards the chocolate candy. His eyes positively glowed with greed as he snatched a piece of paper lying inside.

          “A expedition to pyramids will be yours, if redeemed to The Travel Agency by four dash twenty-four.” He read. “Why, that’s Wednesday!” He bustled about, ordering for clothes to be packed and various other arrangements to be made. He never questioned the origin of the egg, and as for Annette she didn’t care if Gavril lived or died.

          All too soon, the date of the expedition was upon him and he traveled to Egypt on the finest jet money could buy. He was lavished with the native food, extraordinaire sights near and far, and as the final finale of the trip, a tour of the ancient pyramids.  His guide took him on a hot camel ride, with young boys running behind giggling as Gavril slipped and slid from side to side, and had to have his camel tethered to the guides, in case the camel should “run off”.

          They took the standard pyramid tour but Gavril wanted to show off his arrogance by pronouncing his ancient explorer bloodlines. He slipped away from the guide, who seemingly did not notice, and entered a nearby pyramid, ignoring warnings not to. He grabbed a lit torch from the wall and descended into the depths.

          He came upon a heavy stone slab and after much pushing, panting and heaving, he managed to worm his way inside the corridor. Miraculously the door clanged shut after he had ventured a few yards on the path. He twirled around and shouted “Who’s there!” to an invisible enemy, and deciding it was just his imagination, continued on.

          Just then, a steady gust of wind coming at his back blew his torch out. He swallowed deep and hard, for a bulge was already in his throat, constricting the panicked action. He jumped about and ran, screaming something about Bloody Murder and Easter eggs. He reached the end of the corridor and found another door, seemingly glued in place. He banged and pushed and heaved but to no avail. The door remained budged.

          His breathing slowed down enough for him to hear a scuttling noise. His escape attempts increased, almost in a frenzy he banged on the door, as the scuttling noise seemed to get louder and nearer. He felt something chew at his boots then cutting that away, his foot.

          He screamed and yelled for mercy but unfortunately, but the scarabs continued on, happy to have a repast.

~*~

          Bastion, another one of the five, hurried to pick up the egg and then his daily assortment of newspapers. He spared a glance to look around and see nothing catch his eye, he hurried back inside the house.

          Bastion was taking a private cruise to the African regions and he was leaving today. He busied himself by making sure everything was there and putting the egg into a box where he would inspect it later. At a quarter to one he left his house and boarded the ship.

          He soon began to unpack and settle in, exhausted when he finished. His eyes wandered until they fell upon the box with the egg in it.

          He fell upon it as a hawk does a mouse and with seconds, the box lid was halfway across the room, the foil wrapper hastily pulled off in minute strips, and the chocolate shell broken. Nothing suspicious arouse, but he still didn’t trust it. He set it on the bed stand and went to visit, err, pester the crew.

          He didn’t notice the mosquito fly out into the air, where it perched on the ceiling in silent observation of the room.

          Bastion returned and left the room many times, and the cruise slid on. Dinner was an extraordinary event with musicians and servers waiting on his every whim.

          At last it was time to retire to his room and he did, barely changing into his bedclothes when his eyes slid shut and he flew off into realms only the dreaming can see.

          The mosquito landed on his arm and took it fill, then flew off, in search of something else for its nightly feeds. Bastion merely shifted in his sleep and then returned to the deeper regions of slumber.

          He developed a jaundice-tinted skin and a fever, and finally his immune system couldn’t take it anymore and he died from the yellow fever the mosquito had stricken him with.

~*~

          Damia and Cameron met similar demises.

          The Rabbit blinked and cleared the haze away from his bleary eyes. Nothing greeted his eyes except for plain, expressionless white. White, white everywhere. Cottontails hopping down bunny trails. Images flew past as his tired mind slowly cranked about for an explanation.

          Had he really done it? Killed all those people because he was so blinded by his envy?

          Or had he just imagined it; his mind so eroded from this place that he had simply imagined it to fill his time?

          Only Time would tell.