Jenny stands, lawnmower still whipping, grass stained palms folded over her mouth. I can see her bright green eyes fixed on the ground through her plastic safety glasses. I follow them to the grass, to a slowly rotating hind leg, barely attached to a slowly dying adolescent bunny bleeding, fading out. The leg turns slower as I walk closer; like a dog running in a dream gradually returning to reality. I kneel down and follow the curve of the disemboweled intestine over its back, disappearing into the grass. I can almost see the swift mower blade take a swipe and separate flesh from baby bone in my mind.

My eyes follow the circling rabbits foot like the blade of a ceiling fan that has just been clicked off. Winding down, round and around until suddenly it stops, stiffening in mid circle.
Frozen in terror, it seemed as though the baby bunny had prematurely expired of the power to move. As if he was trying to say, “I meant to run,” after the fact, with his hauntingly mechanical rotating phantom of a leg.

Luciana, 23