You’re on a golf course taking part in a fundraiser to cure a disease that’s near and dear to your heart. On the 11th hole, you hit a ball into the woods. While searching for that ball, you see a white rabbit that stops, looks you right in the eye and says, “Follow me.”
Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.
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The Writer’s Book of Matches
Having lost my family to heart disease, I was determined not to follow suit. I switched to a low-fat diet, careful cholesterol-monitoring, exercise. Now I’d taken up golf, and here I was, studying my position on the 11th hole, half-listening to my partner’s litany of criticisms.
“Helena,” someone whispered.
I looked around. No one in sight, just a thick clump of bushes. I turned back to my badly-positioned ball, mopping the sweat from my face and neck.
“Helena!” Voice repeated, a louder and more urgently.
Still nothing in sight. I strode over to our bags, snagged fresh water, and returned to my ball, emptying a third of the bottle in one deep gulp.
“Ignoring me won’t help,” Voice said.
Irritated, I turned in a slow circle, searching the landscape. It stood up when I faced the bushes again. A big white rabbit, standing on its hind feet.
Great. Just what I need. Heat-stroke.
I took another slug of water, and poured the rest over my head. With a sigh of relief, I addressed the ball.
“Helena! Come here! I need to talk to you!”
A glance over my shoulder proved that not only was the white rabbit still there, it had left the bushes and was coming closer.
I had to turn and look then. It was wearing traditional garish golf-attire: vivid green-and-orange checked pants, a blue-and-pink striped shirt, and a fluorescent purple-and-gold golf cap in one, er, paw.
I leaned the golf club against my chest and rubbed my eyes. Felt a tug on my clothes. Cautiously opening one eye, I looked down. Yep. Still there.
I dropped the club and held out my hand. The rabbit took it. His, er, hand was exactly how I would have expected it to be, warm and dry and fuzzy.
“C’mon,” it insisted, tugging urgently. “It’s important. Do you think I would have come out to talk to you if it wasn’t?”
With a shrug, I followed the apparition into the bushes.
“Took you long enough,” said another voice, this one from a big gray tabby, which looked remarkably like my late brother’s pet whom I’d inherited.
“She wouldn’t come,” the rabbit growled.
“Let’s go. They’re waiting.”
That was the last word I got out of them until we reached the trees.
“Looking good, Hell,” said a familiar voice.
“Jack?” I had to rub my eyes again, but yes, it was my brother, standing there as large as life.
“I’m glad to see you’ve been taking care of Whiskers, but I wish you’d made a will specifying what was to be done with him.”
“A will…?” Oh, no. Not after all the work I’d done to lose weight and get in shape. Fearfully, I looked back to the golf course. There was a human shape collapsed on the ground beside my ball.
“It’s okay, dear,” my mother said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “We’re together again.”
It took a minute before I could get a complete grasp on what I just heard.
“Did you just… talk?” I asked out loud, although more for my sake so that I could prove to myself that the blazing heat was playing tricks on my mind. Beady black eyes stared at me, seemingly vacant, until they flashed and began to twinkle.
The rabbit nodded its head and stretched out its furry paw. My dark brown eyes grew wide in surprise.
“Come with me.” The voice was deep and elusive. A talking forest animal was obviously unnatural, but I was overcome with curiosity. The rabbit turned its back to me and began to hop into the depths of the forest. Even if the worst happened, people would quickly notice I was missing, I reassured myself. I glanced behind my shoulder, gripping the iron club tightly in my hand, and began to walk on.
It seemed like we walked for miles, stepping over branches, pushing aside bushes, and avoiding obstacles that would cause me to trip. When it seemed like I could no longer hold my silence, the rabbit threw out its arm in front of me. I halted to a stop, peering down at him.
“You’ve been searching for the cure all your life, Chloe.”
My heart skipped a beat. “How do you know my name?” I questioned, taking a step back. The rabbit slowly turned to face me. Its eyes were transparent. They began to reflect images of people who I had known that had lost the battle against cancer. Each person struck a chord in my being, and it wasn’t long before I broke down into sobs. The last person that was shown was my mother, who was currently undergoing chemo and was in the hospital. Just when thought I had moved past the pain due to the loss of my aunt and grandmother, it resurfaced. I could not bear the thought of losing my mother, too. I dropped down to my knees, overwhelmed and weary, feeling numb.
“You are the only human that holds the power to end the disease forever.” Somehow, I was still stable enough to understand the sentence that left the rabbit’s mouth.
“H-how?” I asked, willing to do anything to save the life of my weak and fragile mother.
Ahead of me, a patch of the forest was illuminated to show the golf ball I had lost floating in the air. I was mesmerized by the anti-gravitational object. Instantly, I knew it was the answer. I got up and began to walk towards it, but the rabbit blocked my path.
Its eyes went back to dull black. Its expression held caution.
“You will die,” it warned.
In the distance, my name was being called. Without hesitating, I grabbed a hold of the golf ball. My fingers tingled before my breath escaped me.
Nice, I like how after all her pain she’s the cure. Wish I could read more!
I call it the walk of shame.
The march through the woods to find the gold ball is especially embarrassing in front of all of these people who I hardly know. After stepping two feet into the woods, I encounter a small white rabbit which I expect to immediately run away in fear. However, I am stunned like a tazered suspect as the rabbit speaks in clear human speech.
“Follow me,” said the white rabbit. “I have found what you are seeking.”
How can I help myself from following a talking rabbit? What other wonders must hide within this forest? After following the white rabbit for several minutes, I conclude that the ball cannot possibly be hiding this far away. Eventually, the rabbit stops before a small spring. The surface of the water is so still that it resembles an actual mirror reflecting the surroundings.
“I am not looking for a lake,” I said. “I am looking for my golf ball.”
Ripples form as a woman in a white cloak rises from the spring and walks to the edge with a sword in hand. From talking rabbits to a woman rising from the water to a sword, this world is more magnificent than I originally thought.
“I am not looking for a sword,” I said. “I am looking for my golf ball.”
“No, you are seeking a cure,” said the woman.
“Yes, my good friend died from cancer,” I said. “I am participating in a charity golf outing for a cure.”
“You have found the cure,” said the woman. “This blade is the ultimate cure for the darkest of human demons. I dub thee the Knight of the Cure. Now go, the human race seeks its cure.”
The woman taps my shoulders with the blade and places it in my hand. Then she returns to the water below. I observe the blade very carefully noting its fine details and light weight feel allowing easy usage. My friends will not believe my story when I return to the golf game not with the lost ball but a sword instead and claim it’s the cure for every disease.
My thoughts are suddenly disrupted by a dark figure with a large black cloak and shroud blocking my path. The figure resembles a ghost but could possibly be a human underneath, or what is left of a human. The ghost draws its own sword and immediately strikes. Although I am not an expert in combat, save golf, the blade instantly takes control of itself and blocks the attack of the ghost by itself.
In one powerful swing, I impale the creature which dissolves like a witch in water. The disease is cured. The white rabbit appears at my feet once again.
“Now go, the human race seeks its cure.”
It is a nice sunny afternoon on the Lake Front Country Club. It is not a millionaire golf course but still nice and overlooking a giant lake. I am playing in the Alzheimer’s Open which is a golf tournament to raise money to help find a cure for Alzheimer’s. I am on the eleventh hole with two strokes under par. It is a tough hole with woods on one side of the fairway and a cliff leading to the lake on the other side. I hit a straight drive but with luck that nobody could have predicted the ball hit a rock alongside the cart path and ricocheted into the woods. I walk over into the woods to locate my ball thinking I should take a drop and a stroke penalty when I look over to see a white rabbit sitting at the foot of a tree. The rabbit makes perfect eye contact with me then starts to talk.
“Hey Dude!”
“Me?”
“Yeah you, the one in the nerdy golf shirt, follow me.”
I follow this rabbit through the woods which strays far from the hole where I am playing. I follow him around a tree by a brush pile in the woods where there is a small opening leading under this pile. I crouch down to follow this rabbit into what appears to be a cave with finished rooms. I had stepped into a different world. The rabbit is now my size or I am his size, I can’t tell. The rabbit takes a seat on a couch and lights up a big cigar.
“Want a light man?”
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
The rabbit pulls out a golf ball and asks, “Was this the reason you were looking around in the woods?”
“Yes, that’s my golf ball.”
“I have quite a good collection of these. People hit balls out here in the woods all the time, but the locals and the club members know that any ball hit into these woods is a lost ball. You, for some reason, decided to come after yours.”
“It seemed to be a bad luck shot because it was a straight drive, then it hit a rock along the cart path making it go in the woods.”
“You’re a new face, tell me what brings you out this way.”
“I am playing in a golf tournament that’s raising money to find a cure for Alzheimer’s.”
The rabbit then does something that is much unexpected.
“I know you, I’ve known you for a long time, I know how much finding a cure for this disease means to you man, $10,000 will be transferred to the tournament account in one hour. You will return to the eleventh hole. Finally, never tell anyone of this experience. One more thing, your grandma, who died of Alzheimer’s, she said to tell you hi.
I returned to the eleventh hole back to where I took my first stroke; this time the ball didn’t go in the woods.
Sweat dribbled down the side of my face, I had been out in this heat for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t even know what I was doing, I had only played golf two times in my life. My sister had entered us in this tournament though. It was a charity event for recovering cancer patients. I knew how much she cared about this, having only been cancer free for four months. I looked over at her, the appreciation shined back in her hazel eyes. I knew it meant the world to be here.
The green fairway seemed to roll over itself endlessly, and I couldn’t putt to save my life, so by the time we reached the 11th hole, I was exhausted. It had been a long day, how do people play a course for 8 hours a day, I wouldn’t ever understand. After waiting for the pair ahead of us to tee off, it was finally my turn.
I reached down, placing the wooden spike gently into the turf, and tightened my hands around the rubber grip of my driver. A strange thought entered my mind, how far would dad have hit the ball? He was such a strong man, and technically these were his golf clubs, that he left for me in the will. He died during the chemotherapy process, devastating the whole family. This was for him, just as much as it was for my sister.
I swiftly reached back my extended arms, and came forward with a force that surprised me. Had I hit the ball straight, I might have been a little excited, but despite any valiant effort, there it went, straight through the treetops to the right of the fairway.
“Damnit” I muttered to myself, as I waited for my sister to tee off, and set off on my journey to find the cursed ball. Arriving at the edge of the woods, I noticed the underbrush was thicker here than the other holes. With no apparent sight of my ball, I decided to push farther in, letting my sister play on. I struggled to navigate the branchy forest, but after a few hundred feet, I knew it was hopeless and almost turned around to drop a ball, taking the penalty. Suddenly my eye caught a flicker of white. A white rabbit whizzed past my peripherals, and when I turned to look at it, it abruptly stopped, and while I didn’t see it’s little mouth move, a voice sounded in my head during our eye contact.
“Follow me.” It said, in a tone that creepily resembled my father’s voice.
I must be crazy I thought, but I had to follow, I had to know. I dropped my clubs, taking a slight jog to catch up, when I reached the base of a massive oak tree, roots tangled throughout each other, and a doorway etched through the hull of the tree. I didn’t see any other choice, so through the dark opening I went.
Of course I sliced this one into the woods… and it had to be this hole too.
“You find it yet? We’re ready for the beer cart out here!”
Yea I’m thirsty too fellas but this damn hole gets me every time. I refuse to let it make a fool of me now.
“It has to be right here somewhere! Why don’t you fools climb in here and help me look?”
I expected their response to be doubly cheeky and equally sarcastic, yet no response came. My head had been facing the ground the entire time I was in the woods. I was crouched over with my eyes glued to the ground searching for my elusive white mistress. I stood finally to gain my bearings and spun in place, bewildered. The green that was maybe ten yard behind me a second ago was gone! It was now replaced by thick woods as far as my eyes could see. I slowly realized that I could no longer hear the sound of clubs swinging or the voices of my unusually rowdy foursome. All was silent.
Too silent
A creeping panic began to overtake me. Something was very wrong. I could feel it…
Behind you!
I’ve never spun so fast in my life, which I could confirm as it flashed before my eyes.
I was crouching now with my left hand flailing wildly for balance and my right hand gripping my Five Iron with ferocity unseen in golf, even by a Tiger. To my equal amazement and bewilderment, roughly twenty paces in front of me stood a white rabbit. Now when I say stood I do not mean in the way one is used to seeing a rabbit stand, but rather that it literally stood on two legs, upright. Upon closer inspection, after much blinking and eye rubbing, I noticed that this rabbit actually had the body of a man and simply the head of a rabbit.
It was in fact the body of a very well dressed man, and the head of a very well groomed rabbit!
“Follow me”
It’s voice was also that of a well-spoken man, though I do not know how a rabbit’s mouth was able to articulate so well. The manner in which it spoke was also quite odd. The words were not an order or a warning, but simply a statement; spoken as a butler might speak while leading his houseguests into the dining room. The rabbit, as I shall call it for lack of a better term, then simply spun in place and marched stoically off into the woods. I stole a glance behind me as the last hope of the return of normalcy evaporated. There was no going back now. My golf party would have to hit on the drink girl without me. Using my club as a cane to help myself up, I set off towards the continually marching rabbit, the James Bond of Energizer bunnies, having no idea what was in store.
Slayerdan,
We may be brothers from another mother. One of the passions of my life is the heavy crunch and the double kick drum that is played fast and loud. I grew up in rural Tennessee, stuck with the Hair Bands on the radio and the occasional video on MTV. Until a chance meeting in 1986 with a new kid in school changed my musical life. He was from California and got me to listen to some record called Masters of Puppets from a no-name group called Metallica.
Honestly, I am very monogamous in listening habits and Metallica is my first true love. I have seen them 5 times, all since 2000. I enjoy the other Big Four but have never owned any of their music. I get my music from XM Radio now and I know all the songs played there from Slayer, Anthrax, Megadeath, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, ect. However, I fell in love with Five Finger Death Punch recently and have bought all 3 of their albums. Yes I did feel weird buying their music, just like I was cheating. I haven’t seen them, yet but they are on my very short list of groups I would like to check out. When I write, I am usually listening to them.
I always appreciate your stories and your POV. Keep the faith brother and like Don Henley says…”Take it easy.”
Be gentle:) I’m new and posted this response as a class assignment. I admire all you patient writers! I teach young children and typically choose to read informative-type books and articles during my own leisure. The only fiction I have spent a lot of time reading is children’s fiction. Although, now I am longing to sit down and read a good fiction book! Thanks for the inspiration!
novicette said, “I admire all you patient writers!”
Hey! Not all of us here are patients!
Ahem.
All kidding aside, this is a very nice, well-rounded story, and doesn’t feel rushed despite the word limit. Ishmael has a good point about the song. You could even put it in italics to make it stand out more. (Cough. Cough.)
Seriously, though, the only thing I might suggest is showing us toward the beginning that he’s an unusually large rabbit, because when he gives the narrator a hug that felt just like Mom’s, I was picturing a little rabbit-sized rabbit, and it caused a kind of disconnect. Might just be me, though.
Looking forward to more!
A kidder I see. Haha!
I love the cheesy and laughing, so keep it comin’.
I see that you immediately picked up on my formatting fears. I like the suggestion and will definitely change the formatting for the song. I also appreciate your suggestion about the rabbit’s size. Now, it seems so weird that I didn’t notice the size issue. I’m definitely gonna add a few more details to the description at the beginning, including changing the rabbit to a female. I guess because all the entries I had read led me to think of the rabbit as male, I assumed he had to be male. Looking back at the prompt I can see it is not set in stone. Thanks for the advice!
“Follow me,” said the well groomed white rabbit as he stood on his hind legs and reached for my hand.
Wondering if indeed the 110 degree heat index was taking its toll on my senses, I turned to head back to the golf cart where my father was waiting patiently. I had taken about four steps when I heard the rabbit speak again.
“Yes, follow me Macey.” The rabbit’s eyes were a sparkling indigo color and his voice was kind and gentle. He went on, “Follow me. I have something for you.”
I glanced back to see my dad talking with a group of guys from work. I mused aloud, “What will it hurt? It’s gotta be better than golf.” I took the rabbit’s soft hand as he quickly led me into the nearby forest. As we walked it felt as though I was dreaming and I couldn’t speak. We came to a gate surrounded by brilliant red roses and he used the colorful keypad to gain entry to a beautiful garden filled with animals that appeared to be tending the flowers. We sat down on a bench made of ornamental iron.
The rabbit spoke almost in a whisper as he explained, “Macey, I brought you here to tell you something very important.”
Finally able to speak, I almost shouted. “Wait! Let me talk. Who are you?”
The friendly rabbit looked into my eyes practically peeking at my soul and said, “I am Little Bunny Foo Foo and I don’t like your attitude.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or yell at him. You see, my mother had passed away two years ago after battling breast cancer for four long years. Though I was only fourteen years old, my heart had grown hard with pain. I treated every one and every thing as if it were the cancer that had taken my momma. She always sang to me, even at her weakest. Because she loved my smile, she would sing her own version of “Little Bunny Foo Foo” when she could see I was struggling with things. I looked at the bunny through tears and began to sing, “Little Bunny Foo Foo, hopping though the forest, picking up the field mice and boppin’ ’em on the head. Along came the good fairy and said, ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo, I don’t like your attitude. Always be thankful, and count your blessings instead.” I broke down in tears as the rabbit came closer and gave me a heart warming hug that felt just like mom’s. I am not sure how this happened or how the bunny knew what to say, but it was exactly what I needed.
In the next moment, a good fairy dressed in pink appeared and sprinkled dust before my eyes. I awoke back on the edge of the forest near the 11th hole. My dad was still talking as if barely any time had passed.
Sweet story. I could totally see this developed into a touching children’s story.
Thank you. 🙂
Delightfully charming. I also felt like I was sitting in a child’s reading circle. You have a wonderful grasp on writing. This was a good story with a poignant theme.
I wouldn’t change a word. My only change would be to separate the song in the paragraphing. It gets lost and loses its impact. It would make it stand out, look more like a song, and give greater emphasis on your feelings when we return to your narrative of, “I broke down in tears…” We’d break down in tears.
Very nice. Welcome.
Thank you and I agree with your suggestion to separate the song. For the most part, I have only written formally or technically in the past 10 years. I struggle with “being okay” with the formatting allowed in story writing. I am picking up on the differences as I read more fiction though. I look forward to reading more on this site. Thank you for the kind welcome.
Shocked, I immediately looked down at my half empty Coors Light hoping the last 8 beers had taken away my sanity along with my lackluster golf game.
“you heard me loud and clear, buddy….follow me. Where else you need to be? Your foursome ain’t going to miss you”.
A talking rabbit was fascinating, indeed; a smart-ass talking rabbit is beyond surreal. Perhaps I’d been hit in the head with a run away ball and this was my journey into the pearly gates. I better decide fast because this rabbit was fast. His white body became smaller as he scurried away not looking back to make sure I was behind him.
I didn’t waste any more time deliberating what to do. I figured if a talking rabbit ever existed and chose to talk to me, I better do whatever the hell it, HE, tells me to.
So, I chased after him, screaming, “wait….you. Wait for me!” I came to the edge of the golf course and stopped short at the busy street filled with rush hour traffic. Calmly, the Rabbit sat waiting for me to catch up, but immediately darted out dangerously somehow dodging death between every car. I immediately found myself chasing him in a real life Frogger video game. I can’t die twice, right? Once dead, I’m, well, DEAD. Focus on the damn rabbit. Follow the white tail, and get to the other side. Oh. My. God. I just caused a massive car pile up and I’m still alive….that’s at least 10 points, cha ching! Never knew getting into heaven would be just like playing a video game. So glad God has a sense of humor.
WIth only a few hops to go, Rabbit looked back to check on my status. I waved my arms to encourage him to keep going, I’m fine! He just sat there, completely unaware of the shiny black coupe speeding towards him. Perched like a sitting duck square on it’s death mark, I screamed, “NOOOOOoooooo!” as the horrific impact obliterated my new friend. I fell in front of the murderous vehicle and wept like a baby mourning His death. Sobbing the unknown world I’ll never know on the other side.
I don’t remember how I got to the sterile, cold, white room that became my home for the next 3 years. I do remember the treatment and rehabilitation therapy I received was poignant in bringing me back to a reality I share with my beautiful wife and 2 little girls. Ironically, the day I followed my floppy eared guardian angel, I was playing in the SSGT, Schizophrenia Society Golf Tournament. Having been diagnosed just a year earlier, I had recently tossed my meds convinced my mild diagnoses was harmless to my family and society.
I now embrace my schizophrenia with open arms. It’s a disease that nearly took my life until I surrendered my own. Thank you, Rabbit. For sacrificing your life and not mine.
I believe that slayerdan was referring to Rodney King of the 1990 era LA Riot fame. Some say he was a criminal and malcontent but I say he was modern day poet, humanitarian, and philosopher on par with Plato and Socrates. His words ring as true today as they did back in the day. “Can’t we all just get along?”
I have been wondering this since he first appeared and now I must ask this question to slayerdan. Are you named after a small band of brothers fronted by Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King?
Very nice to meet you Rob. yes, we can all get along. Overlooking things is sometimes helpful.
I agree with what you said about Rodney King. Cassandra King still remains one of my favorite authors.
I can tell by reading the stories and peoples opinions here that most can’t agree on everything.
There are thousands of readers that flock to buy Stephen King books. I can’t stand the way that man writes.
Thank God we aren’t all alike.
Being a certain genre writer and doing fun prompts are two entirely different things.
I’m guessing the new story prompt will be out tomorrow?
I’m looking forward to it. I may go back and add my lines to some that were done weeks ago.
Practice makes perfect.
Rob—-it is indeed. I am a self professed concert whore w over 400+ live shows to my resume. I started listening to Slayer back in the 80s and through all my musical twists, likes, dislikes moods, and changes, they have remained a permanent fixture in my cassette player, cd player, ipod. The earlier stuff especially. In 1990, they played the lakeland civic center in lakeland florida with Anthrax, Megadeth, and Alice in Chains. From that same concert, they released Decade of Aggression live–my brother and I are on the insert enclosed w the release—it remains one of the top 2 concerts I have ever seen–ACDC is first by default. So for years I have used slayerdan as sign in names and various other things and it just stuck. So funny as I sit here now listening to Don Henley for me to say Slayer is a permanent fixture in my regular listening. Thanks for asking….and for the record, I think they would get a prime kick out of being mentioned in a thread so dominated about Christian views(2 of them are Catholic, 1 Atheist, 1 Agnostic). 🙂
Ain’t that the truth. Rock on! 🙂
“Whack!” I could feel the vibration shoot down the club, knowing that I had hit a good shot off that tee. The two-inch, white ball became a spot in the distance as it sailed towards the green. Just as it peaked over the hill, still sailing, the wind picked up and the ball went from a straight shot to a hole in one to the woods on the left.
“Damn that wind is messing up all our shots, yours got the worst of it Jim.” Mark joked. Only it wasn’t a joke, my ball went flying into the woods, leaving a trail of leaves as it crashed through the trees.
I picked up my club and headed off in that direction to find that two-inch ball in hell. As I crouched through the hanging tree branches just off the 11th hole, I knew it was going to be impossible to find the ball. The bushes were so overgrown that you couldn’t even see the ground, if I had another ball I would have just taken the stroke and tried again. But this tournament had been horrible on my ball supply as every time I was doing good something would happen and I would lose another ball. I was down 4 balls for the game, and my score wasn’t doing much better.
Then from the left side I saw one of the bushes rustle and it sounded like something was going to come out of the bush. I turned my club right side up like I was a baseball pro and was ready to swing on whatever came out.
A white rabbit, he wasn’t just any ordinary rabbit. He stood on his hind legs and carried a cigar.
“Whoa buddy, drop that club.”
I yelped in surprise at what I had just heard. “You can talk!”
“Of course I can talk, can’t you?” said the mysterious rabbit.
“Well of course I can, but why are you talking, you guys are not supposed to talk, are you?” I remarked, wondering if maybe I had been hit over the head by a branch and was just imagining things. This heat was getting to me as well. Why had I signed up for this charity tournament? I didn’t like golf. I could have just donated the money and stayed home.
“We all can talk, me, my cousin thumper, mama, the whole family.” Said the rabbit who identified himself as hopper. “We just choose not to, cause we don’t want your kind to come poke and prod us like we are some strange thing. We don’t do that to you all!”
“Really? Can I meet them all?” I asked.
“Well mama doesn’t like it when we bring home guests, but she also doesn’t like that I’m out here with this cigar, so I guess if I break one rule might as well break em all! Follow me, but you’ll have to be quiet and get real low to the ground. It’s through this bush!”
“Follow me.”
The rabbit’s beady black eyes stared straight into my blue ones. The hairs on my back rose and cold shivers ran down my arms and legs. The hours playing golf in the sunshine must have gotten to me. Surely I was hallucinating. I mean, animals don’t talk, at least not to humans.
The rabbit just kept staring. Even as thoughts of insanity ran through my mind, I just couldn’t break eye contact with the rabbit.
You’re insane. Standing in the woods playing a staring contest with a rabbit. Thinking he is speaking to me.
“Follow me.” The rabbit’s bored expression gave nothing away.
“Excuse me?” My disbelief rang quite clearly in the silent woods. Suddenly, the rabbit seemed to shrug and hop away.
As if hypnotized, I followed him along, heading deeper and deeper into the woods. His white fur was like a beacon, standing out in stark contrast to the dark foliage.
“You’re not crazy, you know?” I almost tripped over the rabbit as he suddenly stopped and stared at me again. I could see him mouthing the words. “Animals can talk to humans, we just don’t like to. You guys are so mighty and so unlike us, I’m sure you can understand why we prefer to talk amongst ourselves. Anyhow, sometimes we make an exception. Hence why you are here. I’m Rabbit by the way.”
The dazed look on his face must have given away my confusion since he followed up with, “I’m kidding. It’s really John Benjamin Owens, but you humans can’t tell us apart so we just introduce ourselves by our breed.”
“Oh. So why me?” My mind called me all sorts of crazy but my heart somehow spoke up, continuing the conversation with Rabbit.
“That disease you and your friends are trying to cure? That’s why you’re all here on our territory, correct?” Not waiting for a reply, Rabbit continued. “I can help you with that. Follow me.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” The rabbit ignored my shout and kept hopping. I had no choice but to follow him. At this point even my mind was intrigued.
The clearing was unexpected, as a gorgeous meadow unfolded before me, taking my breath away. I was literally stunned into silence by the view.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rabbit interrupted my thoughts, a little bit of pride echoing in his voice. “It’s one of the only places that hasn’t yet been touched by humans. So, it serves as our escape of sorts. You humans have your resorts and golf courses, and we have this meadow. Most of our daily activity takes place in our own world, underground. Yes, Alice and the Wonderland is based on a true story. That who shall not be named went and published his story about his adventures in our world. Since then, no human has been allowed back in. The meadow is as far as most get.”
“Wait. Alice in the Wonderland is real?” I couldn’t hide the astonishment in my voice. This day was turning out stranger and stranger.
“Yes.” Impatiently Rabbit looked up at me and once again hopped away. “Follow me. You’re the first one since that who shall not be named who gets to come underground with me.”
I realize it may be a little late, since I can sense the next prompt just around the bend, but I wanted to let you know my first impression.
“I’m Rabbit by the way.” made me laugh. “I’m kidding. It’s really John Benjamin Owens” made me laugh harder. Nice double-whammy humor, there.
Little too tired for me to give a more detailed critique, but I’m definitely looking forward to more!
No desire to jump in with the banter, just a geenral comment. This is a writers forum. Not a pagan writers forum. Not a Christian writers forum. Not a transvestite, lesbian automechanics writers forum. It is a writers forum. And as any creative outlet, it brings in people from all walks of life and backgrounds. It is like New York claims to be–a melting pot. As such, I dont believe there should be any boundaries with language or subject matter–as long as it sticks to the prompts of course. I grew up in a solidly Christian home, and the word fuck was a prominent fixture. Its like rose, chair, shark, or barn—its a word. Shunning words give the words power–accepting them in the right context makes them even more powerful, but positively so. There is a time and place for every single word in the lexicon writers have. This reminds me so much of my 80s heavy metal days when the subject matter of sex, drugs, devil worship etc…permeated the news. It was what those artists were living. It was what they wanted to express. 90s rap is the same. We have to have an open mind to what others offer, not disregard if it doesnt fit within our own framework of ideals and experiences. Its ok if you dont like something—I dont like everything I read here either, but I realize people have their own POV and strengths and thats what they bring to the table—bad words, subject matter, or imagery. I will base it on its own merit, not my own internal values, and I think we all should.
I have rambled long enough.
” Cant we all just get along?”–R. King
YES!! I pray we can all get along and I didn’t by any means try to cause anyone to argue.
My comment that I will not be posting on others prompts was simply to say, I don’t expect any one to comment on mine. I am here for the mere fun of it. I love a challenge.
I once did the 100 word story challenge in less than 5 minutes. It won!
The thing that did get me was, Bride said “you’re new, you’ll get better as you go”
I am new. New to this site, not new to writing. I guess I took that comment wrong?
I’m guessing I am probably the oldest writer here. That’s not to say better.
You can tell sometimes by and how things said and words used etc.
R King? One of my favorite authors is Cassandra King.
Cathy,
Well, I didn’t say that so yes you took it wrong. I still mess up when doing dialogue tags but when you said ‘hmmm, I just re-read it and the dialogue tags are all there.’ when they clearly were not tells me that you need more practice!
Post, don’t post. Comment, don’t comment. There are christian writers websites out there (faithwriters.com or christianwritersguild.com). Good luck to you.
Argh. Like Slayer, I don’t wish to become embroiled in debate, but I do have strong opinions on this matter, as well as your attitude. Please note that this is written with all Christian love and kindness in mind.
Again, in total agreement with everything Slayer wrote, this forum brings all walks of life. There’s even a writer from Kenya. If you’re too prissy to deal with the world, then I have to question your faith. Seriously. Did Jesus hang out with the Pharisees or the common man? AND the criminals, the lepers, the wanton woman, etc.? Most of his time was spent with people who likely cursed and had done ‘bad’ things. Heck, both Moses and Paul were murderers. Granted, they weren’t contemporaries of Christ, but…these are Biblical heroes! Have you closed your eyes to that? Or to all the other human frailties in the Good Book?
Honestly – and I don’t like to share my personal history, but I will touch on it – I’m a devout Christian myself, and lead quite an active church life. I don’t really make a habit of cursing, but I sure know all the words, and I don’t think I’m ever ‘above’ using them. I abstain from ever using GD, but I realize others do. When (not if) I ever have a character that would say it, then I won’t hesitate to write it.
I had a conversation with a friend of mine from this board – a preacher’s wife, as a matter of fact – about the subject of cursing. Of course we are both opposed to gratuitous cursing; cursing just for the sake of it…for shock value. But to write a character effectively, one must know the intricate details and backstory of said character. If that realistically includes incessant use of FUCK (there, I wrote it), then so be it. It is a REALITY of this world.
I’m not a murderer, a rapist, a ten-year old, a wild west figure, an old lady, or a drag queen, but I’ve written about all of them and many more. Oh, and I actually used the word ‘bitch’ in one of my stories. It fit the character.
The reason I question your faith is not a personal attack, but because as a writer, you have the unique ability to reach the masses…to make committed disciples of Jesus Christ through the transformation of the world. Yet you shy away from that which makes you uncomfortable. Not the best missionary work I’ve witnessed…I’ll testify to that! Oh yeah, I already am.
We are in this world, not of this world, but how can you expect some of what YOU have to rub off on the world without immersing yourself in it? And, as a matter of fact, some of this world will rub off on you – plain and simple. THAT’S another reason I question your faith.
You evidently aren’t confident enough to expose yourself and feel that your faith can weather the storms of life (or the dissonance in the world). You view it with fingers over your eyes, allowing in only the things you want to see. “I can do all things through Christ, who give me strength.” Phil. 4:13. So…experience the world in all its wonder and adversity with Him as your guide. Don’t be an ostrich.
I find it admirable that you write inspirational stories. I’ve read literally hundreds and recently read and watched, “Courageous.” Good values, fair book, fair movie. Unfortunately, it lacked realism. It presented a nice microcosm of Christian life, and was a pleasant PG fare. But it was written for a specific demographic, as a way to strengthen one’s Christian life. It was preaching to the choir. I like to reach people who don’t know Him.
I’m not your typical Christian – I’m the one Satan’s worried about. I’ve danced with the devil, and through the strength of Christ, came out with the Mirror Ball Trophy. And I write about it. Most stories in the Bible are about people like me.
And now, for an honest critique of your story. I suffered through it. I’m not saying this because your attitude has gone and teed me off, but simply because of your writing skills. I found them elementary. Your story fell flat and was uninteresting and banal. The repetition was senselessly overused and didn’t work. When you say that you’re ‘guessing that you’re probably the oldest writer here,’ does that mean you’ve been writing a long time, or that you’re as old as Methuselah? An experienced writer would have chosen precisely the correct adjective, leaving no confusion…so I have my doubts. You also had countless grammatical errors. My red pen runneth dry.
So…write away for the sheer pleasure of it. I do the same. I’m trying to make a living doing the craft I love, though, and learn a lot from other writer’s styles, words, and comments. I recently wrote a story in a style against the norm to see where it worked and where it didn’t. I valued every critique – good and bad. I think it would greatly benefit you to do the same. Read with abandon. Don’t dislike a story merely because it makes you cringe…perhaps that little vignette of people’s lives is spot-on, which is why it makes you cringe so. But, by all means, if you can’t discern the reality of it all, and feel a story is ‘bad’ because of language, then pass it by. You missed the point, even before reading.
I’m very opinionated, and try to critique in the kindest way I can. This is likely the most caustic I’ve ever been. But you’ll get over it, and I’m not going to lose any sleep tonight.
No response required or desired.
I will lighten up! Whether someone in your story is horny or not is not a concern of mine.
P.S. The Wizard of Oz is my favorite movie and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
I’m thrilled that you didn’t write it.
Shocked, I immediately looked down at my half empty Coors Light hoping the last 8 beers had taken away my sanity along with my lackluster golf game.
“you heard me loud and clear, buddy….follow me. Where else you need to be? Your foursome ain’t going to miss you”.
A talking rabbit was fascinating, indeed; a smart-ass talking rabbit is beyond surreal. Perhaps I’d been hit in the head with a run away ball and this was my journey into the pearly gates. I better decide fast because this rabbit was fast. His white body became smaller as he scurried away not looking back to make sure I was behind him.
I didn’t waste any more time deliberating what to do. I figured if a talking rabbit ever existed and chose to talk to me, I better do whatever the hell it, HE, tells me to.
So, I chased after him, screaming, “wait….you. Wait for me!” I came to the edge of the golf course and stopped short at the busy street filled with rush hour traffic. Calmly, the Rabbit sat waiting for me to catch up, but immediately darted out dangerously somehow dodging death between every car. I immediately found myself chasing him in a real life Frogger video game. I can’t die twice, right? Once dead, I’m, well, DEAD. Focus on the damn rabbit. Follow the white tail, and get to the other side. Oh. My. God. I just caused a massive car pile up and I’m still alive….that’s at least 10 points, cha ching! Never knew getting into heaven would be just like playing a video game. So glad God has a sense of humor.
WIth only a few hops to go, Rabbit looked back to check on my status. I waved my arms to encourage him to keep going, I’m fine! He just sat there, completely unaware of the shiny black coupe speeding towards him. Perched like a sitting duck square on it’s death mark, I screamed, “NOOOOOoooooo!” as the horrific impact obliterated my new friend. I fell in front of the murderous vehicle and wept like a baby mourning His death. Sobbing the unknown world I’ll never know on the other side.
I don’t remember how I got to the sterile, cold, white room that became my home for the next 3 years. I do remember the treatment and rehabilitation therapy I received was poignant in bringing me back to a reality I share with my beautiful wife and 2 little girls. Ironically, the day I followed my floppy eared guardian angel, I was playing in the SSGT, Schizophrenia Society Golf Tournament. Having been diagnosed just a year earlier, I had recently tossed my meds convinced my mild diagnoses was harmless to my family and society.
I now embrace my schizophrenia with open arms. It’s a disease that nearly took my life until I surrendered my own. Thank you, Rabbit. For sacrificing your life and not mine.
I look around, to see if anyone else has noticed the speaking rabbit on the golf course and I am surprised to see that there seems to be no one around. So, unsure of what else to do, I follow it. After a few moments slog through the underbrush, holding on to trees to keep my footing I was feeling rather silly and wondering what I was going to say to the rest of my foursome, but a loud noise kept me from turning back to the fundraiser. The rabbit seemed to be moving toward the noise and I let my curiosity get the better of me and kept moving behind it. There was a breeze running through the trees that hadn’t been there previous, the day was muggy and still, with no hint of a wind. I tripped over a log as I tried to get down a small gully and went tumbling farther than I’d thought that the hill would go, and as I reached my feet, wiping the dirt from my eyes, I saw it, a large round metal disk. It hovered in a clearing right before me and I saw the rabbit run underneath the giant whirring monstrosity and seem to disappear slowly from view, like he was never there at all. I thought about following him, but my instincts got the better of me and I ran, as fast as I could, not caring that the branches scratched my face and legs, I tried to beat them back with my four iron that I still carried in my hand. I could see the edge of the course now and as I burst from the foliage, panting, I was relieved to see that there were now other golfers visible. “Find your ball, boss?” Ed from the marketing department called out, his voice so innocent. Still panting I leaned my head back to catch my breath and all I could do was point as the saucer rose from the trees behind his head and quickly zipped toward the atmosphere, but by the time they looked it was a blue sky speckled with clouds and just the smallest fleck of metal.
At first I was unable to breath or shift a muscle. Panicked, I required concentrated struggle to pull air into my lungs. Actually seeing the rabbit with my own eyes defied explanation.
Late one night, when I was but eight years old, I slipped out of my bed and silently creped down the hall to eavesdrop on my Uncle Mike talking to my father. He was my idol, and while I was unsure of his exact occupation, he travelled across the globe, always returning with many exciting tales. That one night, he described a happening, which, from his ominous tone, I knew that clearly it disturbed and shook my unshakable Uncle.
I became extra intrigued when I peaked around the threshold, discovering mother was sitting on the sofa, pushed up close to my father, listening ever intently. Seldom did I see my mother join my father as Uncle Mike described his travels.
His normally loud somewhat boisterous voice was now trembling and almost a whisper, as he leaned into my parents as though to keep his story very private. He poured himself a drink of my father’s whisky, quickly swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one big gulp, and then poured another, holding it close to his mouth as though keeping it in place for quick and emergent consumption.
I could not hear everything, and some of what I did hear actually did not make sense. But what I did here sounded like Uncle Mike describing a horrific encounter with a white rabbit possessing human- like abilities of speech and walking upright. Uncle Mike’s rabbit was nothing like any rabbit I had ever come across, and this rabbit was dangerous. Apparently Uncle Mike had taken something, which belonged to the rabbit- something valuable. When he opened the chest to display it to my parents, my mother let out a gasp, and my Dad reached out and quickly slammed the lid, which startled not only my mother and Uncle, but made me slip and fall. I scampered back to my room, and with one leap, jumped into the bed slipped under the covers, and never discussed what I heard with anyone – until now. That was the last time I saw my Uncle, as he died in a tragic accident somewhere in a jungle.
I’m not quite sure, but I never mentioned the events of that night to my parents, probably because it was easier to think of it as a nightmare rather than something that truly happened. But now, clearly, I am standing face to face with Uncle Mike’s rabbit.
Perhaps I thought playing in a fundraiser on a golf course to cure a disease close to my heart would somehow protect me from evil, but obviously I was wrong, because while looking in the woods for my ball on the 11th hole, suddenly and to my horror, I found myself, with Uncle Mike’s sinister rabbit looking right in my eyes and saying, “follow me.”
I’ve decided after reading these story endings, I’m going to pass on commenting.
I don’t use the language that most of the writers here use and to comment would be
negative because of the language used.
I will continue to post my story endings and if you don’t care to comment, I understand.
I like the challenge of prompts.
Hi Cathy.
At first I found it daunting to put my comments out there but, for me, that’s part of participating in the group. All of us put our stories here because we want to get better at what we love to do. It’s always nice to hear that others like our stories and a nice ego boost but we’re not here just to hear the good.
Don’t get me wrong, it really stings sometimes to hear criticism but it’s necessary and can be said gently and without negativity. For instance, for my story I didn’t think what you said was negative at all. It’s something I need to think about for sure because if I ever do want to do this for a living then I need to hear what is confusing, wrong, and just plain bad.
We have writers of all levels here and all are welcome. I hope you will reconsider your decision to not comment but whatever you do please continue to post your stories.
Bridee
Cathy,
I must agree with Bridee0809, and I would like to speak for everyone. We all need each other’s comments. Every person on this board is at a different level, ability and talent. I am an old guy and just started writing almost a year ago. I found this board because I needed some place to get some experience developing my style, voice and to gain some much needed feedback. I have found every comment to be useful and to me as an aspiring novelist, I find that everyone here is part of my target audience. Believe it or not but that includes you, Cathy.
Not to pressure you, but if you withhold your comments from mine and other posts, then we might miss the one reader who could have shaped us and helped mold us to be better. Collectively we are stronger when you participate in the process. And individually I grow when I read and comment on others posts. If I don’t get the point from another writer, then I have an obligation to say it. If I see something that could be better written then again, I can help a brother or sister out. And everyone wants to hear “Great Job!”
Open minds and open hearts are important to consider. Comments that are critical but positive are important. No one will ever force you to comment, but we all welcome your thoughts. Either way, please keep posting because the world needs your voice.
My two cents (and yes, that’s about all it’s worth) :
I have yet to read a story that I can’t find something positive to mention in my comments. Just the fact that someone is gutsy enough to write and post here is amazing to me. I’m always impressed by the caliber and/or creativity of writing.
Glad you are contributing Cathy– hope you trust us enough to offer praise and constructive feedback. I haven’t been on here that long and have found the feedback gentle and helpful. 🙂
It isn’t about hearing great job. What really tickled me what Bridee0809,said I found in her story, not mine. My point is, the language used isn’t appealing to me in any shape, form or matter.
I don’t read smut, therefore I can not read most here.
I don’t use the F word. nor do I like reading it and when someone uses the Lords name in vain? my blood runs cold.
I am a writer, I write Christian stories of inspiration.
Hello Cathy,
Welcome to the forum. I am somewhat of a newbie here myself and so far this experience has been challenging, enlighting and entertaining. I have gotten more than I bargained for. My favorite author is Walter Mosely (Devil In A Blue Dress) and he said you should write for one person and one person only. He never named the person but I figured it out. I like you am a writer. I like the way it sounds and I love what it means. I create like you, worlds, characters, situations and outcomes that are near and dear to me. Some of my characters are rough in the beginning of a piece and even rougher at the end. Some are soft spoken and others are loud. As an author, I get to create this stuff any way I want. That is the beauty of this medium. And I believe wholeheartly in its premise. I, the author never intend to offend anyone but my characters actions and voices might. I don’t apologize for their experiences, ways and outcomes. I want my readers to laugh, to get angry, to cry and to go through the whole spectrum of human emotions. I say this because I believe you do the same things also. Your creative license gives you the right not to use harsh or foul language with your characters. I so respect that right and I hope you do too. I will probably never meet a talking rabbit or have a bookie in this lifetime. But, I might write about what I think the experience might be. I might create a recluse rabbit and horny bookie who knows, and still try to weave a 500 word story. All I am saying is lighten up and enjoy the ride. I for one am glad you’re here and based on what others have written so are they. Again, Welcome to the club.
McKevin
PS. If I had written “The Wizard Of Oz”, Dorothy would have slapped Glenda The Good Witch senseless if all she had to do was click her heels. But had she told me that at the beginning, we wouldn’t have had much of a story would we?
Watching my ball head straight for the trees, my shoulders dropped as my new “search for the ball” reality hit. I looked towards Frank, one of the foursome I was a part of it.
“Frank!” yelling his direction.
“What’s up Becky?”
“I friggin hit my ball into the god forsaken trees. Again.”
I heard Frank’s laughter.
Walking towards the thick line of trees, I reminded myself of why I was here. The fundraiser. This is not about me! I repeat, This is not about me! I lost my brother to diabetes a few years ago and have been participating in these fundraisers as if they were my new church.
The crowd disappeared behind me as the curtain of trees dropped its veil around me. It was quiet and peaceful as if none of the teams and spectators existed.
Scanning the brown for that little ball of white, I suddenly did not feel alone. The hair stood up on my arms..
“Hello Becky,” said a deep male voice.
I spun around, highly alarmed.
I felt my bladder want to release and quickly pinched my legs together. I was staring at a 6 foot white rabbit.
I started to wonder if this was a joke from one of my teammates.
“Ok, is it Randy?” Smiling, I started to move towards the rabbit. “Or, is it Doug?” I was standing right in front of the rabbit and started pulling on the costume. I started touching the fur and realized this was no costume.
I backed away and looked into the eyes of the Rabbit. “What the…”
The Rabbit cut me off.
“Becky, I am real.” The Rabbit paused. “And I’m here to help you.”
The letters WTH kept circulating in my mind and I could not form a complete thought if I tried. “What?” My arms were like lead weights.
“Yes. I am here to help you. I know you lost your brother a few years ago to diabetes. I know you miss him so much.”
My head nodded.
“I come to offer you a chance to be with him.”
See my brother again?
“Do you want to be with your brother again?” I nodded slowly. What was happening? I failed to notice that the trees had faded.
“Take my hand,” he said as he extended it. I felt my own hand moving towards his. This is not real I repeated in my head, yet when my hand felt his warm fur, I struggled with the not real part.
I looked around and the trees were gone. Then I saw my brother. “Sammy!” I yelled and ran to him. “I have missed you so much.” We talked for what seemed like hours.
I felt the Rabbit’s paw on my shoulder. “Becky. We have to go back now.” My brother smiled at me with so much love, I felt my heart expand and fill my entire body. “Becky,” he said, “I’m so happy here. Stop doing all the fundraisers and go find yourself again. We will see each other before you know it. I love you Sis.”
That world disappeared and the trees came back. Frank was standing over me.
“Becky!!” I sat up.
“You ok?” I nodded and looked around. The pain of my brother was gone.
I looked at Frank and saw his pain for the first time.
“Frank, I need to go.” I smiled as I could feel his questioning eyes on my back. I was free.
I love lines like these:
“I have been participating in these fundraisers as if they were my new church.”
“I struggled with the not real part.”
“This is not about me! I repeat, This is not about me!”
They put “me” in the story because everybody has felt this way at one time or another.
This one makes me want to write the forum administrators and ask to them to expand the word count.
“We will see each other before you know it.”
I want to know did she die too or if Sammy ever came back for another visit.
Great story and you did a good job with it.
PS. I got a friend named Doug too.
Thank you very much! Thank you for pointing out the lines that you enjoyed. It’s great validation of what works.
Sweet story. Nicely done.
Thank you!
Ah, we were thinking along the same lines! Nicely done, your story touched a nerve with me.
Thank you Ms. Sherry!
I did. When you can “just whip something out with a chuckle” that’s talent. If that’s how you do most of your writings, then its also your “style.” You go girl!
You’re kind to have come to the bottom and take the time to read and comment. You’re a good writer—your time and feedback carry weight. Thank you.
“You know, we know a little about…” He pumped his furry fist up and down and waggled his long ears at me, giving me that “knowing” look.
“That’s just wrong,” I said. But really, was there anything right about a talking rabbit, much less one giving me a little insight about STDs?
The day really had started out pretty normal. I am a caddy at Merchant Bay Golf Course. I show up in my white polo and khaki pants, haul clubs, chase balls and maybe get a tip or two. Today I was going to be dragging clubs for the annual charity game sponsored by Our Saints of Perpetual Sorrow. This year’s sponsored recipient had me and the other caddies doubled over with the irony: the Foundation for Research for Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Of course, now we know why the saints are perpetually sorrowful.
The participants are usually local celebrities, volunteering their time. It looked like I would be the caddy for Don Sleigh, a big-shot in the newspaper biz known for staring down his nose at us caddies. Whatever. I got paid either way, but today was especially brutal. Mr. Sleigh, for all his huffing and puffing about his golfing skills, wasn’t playing well and kept blaming the course. “It’s all in how you start the stroke, son,” he’d say to me as he wound his body back. “Nothing tricky at the end, just a clean follow-through.”
But I’d watch, he’d always add a little something just as he hit the ball to bring out an element of surprise. I rolled my eyes. It rarely worked. And around the 11th hole, it went completely awry sending the ball out into the woods. I smiled benignly, “I’ll go get that, sir.”
Which is how I met the rabbit. I was pulling up bramble, cussing under my breath, hoping that every STD out there would get to Mr. Sleigh’s balls, when this rabbit wearing—no kidding—a cap and vest, hopped up. He was nibbling on a carrot the same way my uncle Herman Manfreidy chews on his smelly stogies. “Man, that gig looks horrible,” he said holding the carrot in his teeth.
“It sucks,” I said, before I thought of the implications of talking back to, let alone seeing and hearing, a verbose rodent.
“You should come with me.”
“I’m not in the habit of following my illusions,” I said.
“You should try it. Very satisfying. Just be careful.”
I thought about the charity and snorted. “Good advice.” I looked back at Mr. Sleigh standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, impatiently. “Yeah, real good advice. Let’s go.”
So here I am six hours later, tossing back carrot juice with shots of turnip, straight up, with a bunch of wild hares. Turns out rabbits are pretty knowledgeable about transmitted diseases—which makes sense if you think about their procreation rate.
“But you don’t see us perpetually sad, do you?” My cotton-tailed friend tossed back another shot and wiggled his ears at me.
That was good. I thought about how fast rabbits multiply but I never would have thought to interject STDs in there. Lol! I love it. You obviously have a style all of your own and that’s a good thing. McKevin
I totally just whipped this out with a chuckle –not sure how indicative it is if a style. Hope you at least smirked a bit.
Very clever. The characters and setting was very clear and I could see it in my head. I like stories that give you a little teaser at the beginning, made me want to keep reading. Well done!
Funny story jincomt! “carrot juice with shots of turnip, straight up” is a great way to get rid of perpetual sorrow! I loved it.
I like how you got a wild hare and magically whipped this one out! You’re good that way…it always astonishes me.
The caddie was good to leave the ball sack back on the course. He can finish out the rest of the game on his own.
I am charmed by this story. You painted an excellent portrait of the caddy, using very few words. Having Our Saints of Perpetual Sorrow sponsor a charity event for research on STDs is very smirk worthy. My favorite sentence is, “He was nibbling on a carrot the same way my uncle Herman Manfreidy chews on his smelly stogies.” I love this! Another great read, jincomt.
Thanks for reading and responding everyone. This came to me after a conversation with a friend–i wasn’t intending to post this week. Sometimes I take the writing of the prompts too seriously. It was fun to go lighter (in attitude as well as content) this week.
I really hated rabbits. Damn smelly little blighters. My dad had sold rabbits for food in his childhood; if any of my sisters had pined for one of the fluffy rodents in the pet store, my dad would launch into a rendition of one of his more gruesome experiences. I’d been brainwashed.
So I sure as hell didn’t want to hear one talking to me.
“Follow me,” said the rabbit solemnly, blinking with its big creepy black eyes.
I refused the temptation to reply to the rodent. Hoping that this was just some wacko dream caused by heatstroke, I slowly raised my golf club, trying to look big and threatening.
“Oi, there’s no need for that!” protested the rabbit. The rabbit was talking; and now it was hopping towards me.
“Shoo!” I barked, brandishing my iron. God; today was a nightmare. Just when I thought that I would get some closure over Annie’s death, I find out that the charity was golf of all things – how the hell do they expect me to play golf? And then, when I just thought I was getting the hang of this damn game, that wind came and wacked up my shot; now this freaky-ass rabbit was talking to me.
“You just have to listen,” said the rabbit, stopping a little ways away, holding up his paws soothingly. “I have a message for you. From Annie.”
I froze. A cold sweat broke out over my forehead. With gut-wrenching effort, I tore my mind away from the memories which had begun resurfacing; memories which a lot of alcohol, time, and obsessive working had tamped down into a repressed section of my mind. I’d never really sorted out my feelings about what had…happened. I’d never thought that I’d needed to.
“First of all, she says that you need to take a vacation. She wants you to go to Fiji, or Hawaii; get a sun tan, a massage, some exfoliation. And then she wants you to sort out your feelings about her dying.
“She says to tell you that talking about your feelings with someone isn’t un-manly. She wants you to get over her, and be happy. She wants you to stop thinking that donating money to charity will ease your sense of guilt. Because it won’t.”
The rabbit cleared its throat, nodded once, and then turned to hop away. I could only stare at it, speechless. A hot, prickly feeling was growing in my throat and pooling like a roiling ball of snakes in my gut.
“Oh,” said the rabbit, stopping to turn back. “And Annie says not to feel guilty about what you’re feeling about Reigna. She approves of her; you’ll make each other happy.”
And then the rabbit hopped away. My golf ball rolled out from under a bush of foliage, dirty but bright white. I stared at it for a while, snorted, and then turned around and walked away.
I was going to friggin’ Fiji.
Nervously, Ayan watched as the golf ball rolled on the grass. “Go.” She whispered.
The ball went in the 11th hole.
She squealed in delight and clapped her hands happily. Then she noticed the other people on the golf course were giving her dirty looks. “Sorry.” She said.
No fun. No fun at all. This vacation to Somalia was so boring. Why couldn’t she have stayed in New York with her friends? But no. Her mother had said that she would make new friends, but that would not happen. Ayan had not made a new friend since kindergarten.
She only agreed to come to make her mom happy. Her mother had been devastated when she found out that her husband had a boyfriend. Ayan had tried to comfort her, but realized that her mom needed to get away. But she never thought her mother would pick Somalia as a vacation spot. She was hoping for a cruise of something.
But she admitted that Somalia was okay, but it did feel way different than New York. It was a totally different world, besides her mom needed to be near family. It was good for her mom.
Ayan on the other hand had never been here before so she didn’t know anyone. It was weird to meet relatives that you had never seen before in your life.
She sighed, pulled out the ball, and dropped it on the ground. She decided to just going to go back to the hotel room. It was such a beautiful room overlooking the beach, but it was starting to feel like a prison. She was so bored she wanted to scream.
Ayan hit the ball so hard that it flew across the course into the trees. “Oops-” She did not do that on purpose.
It was then that she saw the rabbit. It was so cute. It was white with long ears. She went closer and tried to be as quiet as possible so it would not move.
Yes. It had not moved.
She was so close.
Suddenly, the white rabbit turned to her and looked her right in the eye, “Follow me.”
Ayan blinked in shock, “Did you just talk?”
“Did I stutter, human? Follow me.”
I limped into the kitchen still red faced and sweating, the Ziploc bag grasped in my hand. The bag of water swung limply between my fingers making it resemble clear, oddly shaped testicles.
“Hi Angie, how was your family’s charity event – whoa, what happened?” my girlfriend asked, getting up from the TV room and coming into the kitchen.
“Golf and rabbits,” I said.
“Have you been playing in the mud?” she said; looking at my dirty, grass stained clothes.
“Sort of,” I said.
“What’s with the bag of water?”
“It was ice. For my head.”
“Oh wow, you have a huge lump.”
“Ouch! Don’t touch it.”
“Sorry, here give me that, I’ll get more ice,” she said reaching for the bag.
I flopped into a seat at the kitchen counter. Jackie dumped the water into the sink then put some ice in the bag.
“Did you say something about rabbits?” she asked, handing the bag to me from across the counter.
“Yes, I met a rabbit,” I said, gently placing the bag over the lump.
“Met a rabbit. Sounds interesting, spill it.”
“It happened on the eleventh hole when I was looking for my ball after I hooked it into the trees trying to nail a dogleg left. I don’t know what the hell that means, that’s what my Dad said when I didn’t hit it down the midway.”
“Fairway,” Jackie said, filling a glass with water and putting it on the counter in front of me.
“I went into this willingly, I did. I even bought this cute little golf skirt in the shop and was having fun talking to the people who came out to play golf. The very first swing and I hit the ball into the sand thing.”
“Sand trap,” Jackie said as I paused to take a drink of water.
“When I tried to get it out, I hit my foot with the club and sand flew everywhere and I ended up with sand in my ba-ba. It’s the middle of summer so I already feel like I’ve been licked by a giant St. Bernard and now I have sand in my crotch.”
Jackie shot me a sympathetic look.
“Anyway, I dragged my bag into the trees to look for my ball and inside there is this little white rabbit and it says, ‘follow me’. Well, I figured the heat is getting to me and I might as well enjoy the hallucination until I pass out. I followed it and he told me he had escaped from a lab and needed something and was just about to tell me what when a ball flew into the trees and hit me on the head. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“You’ve had quite a day. Hungry?” she said.
We heard a rustling sound and looked into the laundry room. The rabbit hopped out of the golf bag and into the kitchen and looked up at us.
“I am, what’s for dinner?”
Cute. I liked it.
The ending made me laugh. You wrote well and moved the story along, giving the characters personality. Nicely done!
Amusing story. You started into a nice rhythm with Jackie correcting Angie on her golf terms. The rhythm was so nice that when Angie referred to her “ba-ba” I automatically expected Jackie to correct her. Then I realized that wouldn’t quite fit the tenor of your story! Still, that’s something to think about for the future. It’s a nice way to set up a joke.
Good story. I like the way you took it away from the golf course/woods.
I did get confused when who said what was apparent during the:
What’s with the bag of water?”
“It was ice. For my head.”
“Oh wow, you have a huge lump.”
“Ouch! Don’t touch it.”
“Sorry, here give me that, I’ll get more ice,” she said reaching for the bag.
I’ve learned the he said she said’s are most important to readers. Silly readers are like rabbits sometimes. All confused ya know?
Great comment Cathy. I’ll be curious to see if anyone else responds.
Donald Maass in his book, “The Fire in Fiction” actually addresses dialogue and cautions against too many attributes– he/she saids. He adds dialogue can be a great way to move the story along quickly and create tension. If there are only two people talking, and you are notating it correctly in different paragraphs, always tagging it with a “said” isn’t necessary.
Interestingly, I just finished reading, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” (Jonathan Safran Foer) and he not only didn’t use attributes in many places, he didn’t break the conversation of individual speakers into paragraphs. I think the effect was to show the process of the protagonist’s thoughts, but I found it required a lot of concentration and was tiring to read in too large a chunk.
Thanks for getting my gears thinking about this! Julie
I think, if there’s been adequate character development, the indicators aren’t necessary. Each has a way about them, and a tone is created. If written well enough, through transitional statements, it should be apparent who’s doing the speaking. I agree that good dialogue can drive a story. There are many writers here who handle dialogue extremely well.
Delightful!
It was the second day of our fundraiser golf tournament in South Bend, IN. So far the spring weather had been kind to us, but I would have been happy to have had bad weather as an excuse for the crappy way I had been playing so far. On the 11th hole, I sliced one into the woods. I didn’t expect things to improve any, so I figured it was going to take me a while to find my ball. I grabbed my water bottle off the cart, waved at the other members of my foursome, who made a shooing motion at me, and headed toward the woods. The shade of the old maple trees blinded me for a moment as I stepped out of the bright sunlight, and this reminded me to take off my dark glasses.
As I glanced around trying to decide where to start looking, a white rabbit with greasy ears, paws and face stepped out from behind a tree and waved a front paw as he said, “Follow me!” Then dropping on all fours he bounced a couple of strides farther into the maple woods.
“Eustace, I thought you were going to wait in the car,” I said, sternly, looking back at the long stretch of open green between us and the parking area.
Eustace laid his long white ears back and looked away while he said, sheepishly, “I had to pee. But I saw where your ball went!” he added brightly, sitting up and wiggling his nose.
“I don’t want you to think I am not grateful,” I said, “but you know the sun is bad for albinos.”
“I put on sun screen,” he pouted. He didn’t like to be reminded of his condition.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I smiled. “Well, let’s make it quick so you can get back under cover.”
I followed him down a faint trail to where the May Apple grew thickly.
“Here it is!” Eustace reached under the big umbrella-like leaves eagerly.
“Wait! No, Eustace!” I had spotted something – a slender white hand with an unusual emerald ring on the middle finger, laying limply on the ground a couple of feet from my ball. Eustace spotted it then. Tthe pink color drained out of his nose and ears and he involuntarily thumped a hind foot on the ground.
“Is it?” he quivered.
“Yes, Eustace, I recognize her ring. I believe it is Mercuria Strill, the Chairman of the activist group, Not All Albinos Are White. The question is, why was she here at the fundraiser for Albino Gene Therapy, and who killed her?!”
I’m confused on how this works. I’m new here as of yesterday.
Do you have to know someone to get replies on your story ending?
Just asking . . .
Cathy,
It is a simple process. You throw your story out there and others will read and hopefully comment. It seems that most people will read and comment on your work, if you comment on theirs as well.
I will look for your post, welcome aboard. The water is warm so please jump in.
rob
Yeah…there are so many talents on the board, it’s tough to read and get to them all. If your name is seen often and regularly, people will take notice. Helping to edit/revise others’ works enables us to better self-edit, but be sure to add what appeals to you about a story!