So the days and the winding roads brings the little rabbit here. Mostly
of its own making. The fates are not to be called in as a party now.
Maybe not ever. It looks at its hands and smell blood. The blood of
dreams and the marrow of the future. Broken. Beyond recognition. The
dance ends. Without a bow. Maimed and hurt, crawling to the outside. On
to unlit highways. Cold asphalt and speeding tires with headlights
unattached.
Hit. Thrown. Torn asunder. Bleeding. Broken. Laughing. Sobbing. Blood
stricken face. Tears? Or stigmata? Does it matter? No. Should it? No.
Again. To crawl. To hope. To seek. Lights flash. High beam. Low beam.
High beam. Low beam. Close your eyes and smile. As the Eurythmics croon,
"Here comes the rain again". Impact. Sailing. Airborne. Launched. The
crash. rebounding on the ground. A pebble rippling on the surface of the
water. Skipping. Skidding. The body on cold black asphalt. Marionette.
Pinocchio. Writhes. On strings.
A smile. A tear. A spot on the road. Skid marks. High beam. Low beam.
Impact.
Cycles unending. Pain unimaginable. Endured. So stand up again. Little
rabbit. Hold it up high.What is it? A light? flashlight? "Yes" it says.
"I am the lighthouse". Impact. Like a pebble rippling on the surface of
the water. Twitching finally. Yet not giving up the spark of life.
Comfort. A blanket? Cloth? No. The smell of newly minted paper. The
rabbit tries to shrug it off and stand. In vain. Then gaining strength.
Impact. Speeding tires with headlights unattached.
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