bunnies

Little Blue Bunnies

by McCutcheon
I'm a writer. I stay at home days and write and drink. It doesn't leave you very fit, or in good health. And it does nothing to help your love life or social life. I've never been married. By night I'm usually too drunk to go out, but you have to make sacrifices for art.

I was sitting at my desk; writing and drinking chilled white wine. I only drink wine or beer while working. I was playing the newest Holly Golightly album Truly She Is None Other. My literary success has allowed me to invest in a huge vinyl collection.

I was only scarcely aware of the noise in the hall, the sounds of the cleaning ladies working. I had the music turned up loud enough for it to penetrate the walls of my old building and to spur me on with the emotion and devotion I need to hit the keys six hours a day.

There was a knock on my door. I was annoyed. I don't like to be disturbed.

"Yeah," I called out.

"Hey." Came the reply.

"Hey what?"

"Like the music."

I went to the peek hole. Two girls in overhauls were standing shoulder to shoulder. They were good looking in an industrial way, a disheveled pair of pretty girls like Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie.

I opened the door.

"Sorry, is it too loud? I like it loud when I work."

"No, it's great. What is it?"

"Holly Golightly."

"Cool."

The girls remained standing shoulder to shoulder. They didn't seem like they wanted to go back to work. I did what I usually do when I'm in an awkward situation. I offered drinks.

"Uh, you wanna come in? Have a drink?"

"Sure," said the girl on my right.

The girls came in and sat down. They were a few years younger than me. Maybe mid-twenties.

"I'm Terry," I said.

"Hi, I'm Karen," said the girl who was before on my right."

"And I'm Beth," said the other girl.

They looked around and saw the turntable and the wine.

"What are you working on?" asked Karen.

"I'm working on my computer," I said.

"Is it good work?" she asked.

"It's okay, sometimes it's very slow, and then sometimes it really flows."

"What kind of work can you do while drinking," asked Beth.

"I write."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Anything we would have read?" Karen asked.

"Probably not."

"Tell us a title." Said Karen.

"Well, my latest one is The Little Blue Bunnies Go To A Dance." I said. "I do a whole series with Little Blue Bunnies."

"What's that?" Asked Karen.

"Kids books."

"Did it sell?" Asked Beth.

"Yeah, it did. It was on the top of the kid's best sellers list until it was knocked off the number one spot by Madonna's book."

"That cunt," said Karen.

"Yeah."

"How'd you get into writing kid's books?" Karen asked.

"I don't know. It's just the way it comes out of me."

"What does that mean?" asked Karen. "You don't seem to have kids."

"I don't. But somehow when I write I revert to kids stories. It's not by choice. I wish I was a serious novelist."

"So anyway, you got something to drink?" asked Beth.

"I got some wine," I said pointing to the bottle next to the turntable.

"Anything stronger?' Karen asked.

"Yeah, I got some Jack Daniels."

I always try to keep a bar stocked for some upcoming special occasion. It isn't always easy. I usually run out. But today was the girl's lucky day.

"Jack would be good." Beth said.

I poured the girls Jack on the rocks and left the bottle and bowl of ice on the table. The girls took big gulps and replenished their drinks. I stuck to the wine.

When the Holly album ended I played- The White Stripes version of ‘Jolene', Edith Piaf's ‘C'est l' amour', Klee's version of ‘Suffer The Little Children', Charlotte Gainsbourg's ‘Lemon Incest', Blondie's ‘Heart of Glass' non-disco version, Free Kitten's ‘Teenie Weenie Boppie', ESG's ‘Come Away' the Raincoat's version of ‘Lola', and Marianne Faithfull's ‘Is This What I Get For Loving You.'

The girls liked the music. I was proud of my feminine side. These were songs I put together for a compilation called Camel Toe. And the singers were women much cooler than Madonna. Teach that health freak bitch to knock me out of number one. No one who has been in a movie as depraved and desperate as Swept Away should be allowed to write kids books.

"Have you guys been cleaning ladies long?" I asked.

"No, we used to be in daycare." Said Karen.

"Actually, we just started. This is our first building," said Beth.

"Oh yeah, do you like it?"

"Daycare was more fun. But it's good to get out." Karen said.

"Out?"

"Yeah, we are on day release." Said Karen.

"Huh?" I was getting uncomfortable despite the wine buzz.

"From prison. We get out days to work." Said Karen.

"It's a work release program," clarified Beth.

"You guys are in prison?" I became a little scared of being robbed. And lost all interest in having sex. It was always a long shot anyways. But when you are drunk in the middle of the afternoon sometimes something magical happens. At least it does in a juvenile way when I write.

"Yeah, well we are not in prison at the moment, are we?" Laughed Karen.

"What, um, what are you in for?"

"Rape," said Karen.

"Rape?" Was I going to be raped? By girls I wanted to seduce?

"More like molestation," Beth clarified again.

"Molestation?" Was I going to be molested? By girls I wanted to seduce?

"Yeah, you know, sex with minors, like Mary Kay Letourneau." Said Beth. "Except we like them younger. Vili Fualaau had a little peach fuzz mustache. We like their sex parts to be as bare as babies. The younger the better. "

"It's a bullshit wrap, the kids love it," Said Karen. "Tell me what kid doesn't like to get diddled and piddled."

"We should go," said Beth.

"Yeah, don't want to get busted on the first day." Said Karen.

I was sick to my stomach. The white wine was about to come up. I wanted to throw the girls out. But they were already leaving.

The girls slammed back the remainder of their drinks. Then they left. Soon I heard the sounds of the vacuum cleaners. I went back to work. But I couldn't write. I couldn't recapture the world of children running free and safe, playing with little blue bunny rabbits.

I turned off my computer. I grabbed the bottle of Jack and put on the Stooges. I sat on the couch and listened through headphones so as not to hear Karen and Beth.

The Stooges is what was usually playing on the nights of my parents numerous parties. I liked to lay awake at night up in my room and listen to my parents and their boisterous drunk friends flirt and argue. Iggy's voice soothed me to sleep.

‘Dirt' was the song that was on when he came into my room. He asked me if I was asleep. I didn't recognize the voice so I didn't reply. I rolled over and clutched the three little blue bunnies that I slept with to my chest.

I lay in silence as he undid his pants. I heard his belt buckle come undone. I could smell alcohol and cigarettes on his clothes and skin. He slipped his hands under the covers and pulled my pajama bottoms down. He brought my rear end up and shoved my head into the pillow. I held onto the little blue bunnies as he forced his adult sized cock into my ten-year-old anus. Tears washed out my eyes but the bunnies muffled all whimpers. I'm not sure how long it lasted. It was the first horrific moment it what would become years of abuse.

When he was done he didn't say a word. After he left I gingerly snuck into the bathroom. I inspected myself. My rectum was torn. I had secretions down my leg; what I would later come to identify as come, diarrhea and blood was stuck to my inner thighs.

I never told my parents but left home at the age of fifteen. Most people thought I left because of my parent's recent divorce. I lived on the streets and hustled until I started writing for a homeless magazine. My true voice emerged when I started writing about children and the little blue bunnies that protect them.

I polished off the remaining Jack. I took the headphones off. I knew right where it was. My protection. I would never be the victim of another intruder. I grabbed the gun and went into the hallway.

Karen and Beth waved to me as I walked toward them. At first they didn't see the weapon in my hand. Not until it was too late. I shot Karen first, once in the face and twice in the chest. Beth turned to run. I blew the top of her head off. Blood splattered the walls. Pieces of skull and brain stuck to the hanging lampshade. They are going to have to get more cleaning ladies to mop up the mess. I turned the gun on me. The Little Blue Bunnies Go To The Dance will be the last in the series.
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