"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

24 July 2011

The Occasion of the Fuzzy Bunny

The room was lit by a single cobweb shaded light bulb. Within the webbed pattern of dying light, one could make out peeling paint, boarded windows, and water stains. The air was thick and musty with the scents of decaying wood, tile, and a thousand yet unnamed species of fungus. It would be difficult to imagine the space could have ever been inhabitable.

Directly under the sputtering light source, tied to a rickety chair, sat a bloody and bruised husk of what was once a man. Now, he was a prisoner. Perhaps, had he not tried to run, if he answered the inquiries of his captors, he could have avoided his present condition. It hardly mattered now. He knew things they wanted to know, and refused to tell. The effect of this was evident upon his battered body and labored breathing.

There were three of them. One, perhaps the youngest, stood almost out of the light, absently playing with strap of his rucksack. It looked like this may have been his first assignment. The other two were taller and more muscular. Given the sadistic joy they seemed to take in their brutalization indicated they had more experience in this sort of thing. In a sense, they barely passed for human. It would be better to describe them as predators of some infernal abyss.

"Tell us what we need to know!" The first captor roared, lashing out in a backfist, which almost knocked the prisoner over.

"Fuck you...!" He spat. Every so often, he found his consciousness waning. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would fade into oblivion before he was hit again.

"This is getting us nowhere," the second captor growled, his gaze shifting to the third, "We need to use another form of persuasion."

From his spot, at the edge of the light, the third captor shrugged and pulled the rucksack from his shoulders. He opened it and began rummaging through its contents. The prisoner found himself imagining devices with blades or barbs. Maybe a whip or taser. He was not prepared for what was produced from the rucksack.

It was a louder shade of pink and very fuzzy. The object's long ears tied into a simple bow just above its white ball tall. As it was turned toward the first two captors, the prisoner noticed how their expressions softened at its large cartoonish blue eyes. For a brief moment, the brutality was gone.

"A bunny?" The prisoner rasped.

"The fuzzy bunny," the third captor corrected, then turned his attention his fellows. "Do we really need to do this?"

"If that," the second started, pointing to the prisoner, "would have answered our questions, it wouldn't have come to this."

"Give us the fuzzy bunny," the first added.

"But I just cleaned it!" The third protested. "Do have any idea how long that took? And now you want to use it again?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," the second said plainly. "We need our answers, and we need them now."

"Well, is it okay if I wait outside?" The third asked.

"Why?" There was fear in the prisoner's voice.

"Wait outside?" The first snarled. "It asks a valid question; why?"

"Because I don't want to watch, dammit!" The third exclaimed. "I'm only human after all! Jesus Christ! After the last time..."

"You will stay in here and assist us!" The second snapped. "If you do not, after we finish with that, we will use the fuzzy bunny on you!"

"I understand," the third said sheepishly. "I'll stay."


There was a weeping sound. A scent of urine and excrement filled the air. The three captors turned to regard their prisoner, whose shoulders shook, and he tried to control his sobs.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," the prisoner wheezed. "Just please...not the fuzzy bunny. Anything, but that."


Much later, the three captors shared a good meal and exquisite drinks. Their conversation revolved around stories of respective families or hobbies. Usually, when they ate together, they made it a point not to discuss whatever occurred earlier in the day.

This time, was the exception. This time, they talked about how the human imagination could easily concoct the worst possible scenario when given just a suggestion. Even if that suggestion was something as simple a fuzzy bunny.


  1. I'm glad you labelled this macabre. You have a way of crafting such a brutal scene that I was wondering just what horrors could be inflicted with a fluffy bunny. Human imagination is a strange thing.

  2. Thank you. There was somewhere I heard or read that, which is only hinted at can be far more terrifying than that, which is described outright.

  3. Have you ever seen Silence of the Lambs? Clarice is shown a photo of the last person to get too close to Lector's cell. We never get to see it.
    The power of suggestion is a cruel way to torment people.
    I still want to look at that photo, and I still want to know what you can do with a fuzzy bunny.

  4. I've only seen that film in pieces, but I mean to watch it all the way through. My father read Red Dragon to me as a child, and he'd go to be with the lights on. Sometimes, I joke that explains things.

    When I read Lovecraft, and how he would get to the I can say no more for fear of my sanity part, would annoy me. Oh, please, Howard, go there...