Bunny Teryaki

Another thing I write, besides essays about Sega and odes to the food at Hooters, are short stories. Here’s a piece of flash fiction I wrote, entitled Bunny Teryaki. This was inspired by some story I read that was mostly dialogue–but I forgot what it was–so I’ll just namecheck Hemingway, and see, I’m smart because I can name books. I also know all the words to Don Mclean’s American Pie. That’s not really impressive.

But I think it fits in with the Surfing Pizza’s worldview, and I hope you’ll read it, although I realize I may have lost many of you at the words “flash fiction”.

Happy Memorial Day.

Bunny Teryaki

The couple was driving, leaving their neighborhood, and they passed a pile of dead rabbit in the road.

“Bunny!” she said, “oh, poor bunny.”
“Looks like it’s in the third stage of rigor mortis,” he said.
“You always put things in the most insensitive way.”
“That’s not insensitive. Did you see how stiff that thing looked?”
“I used to have a bunny,” she began.
“I know, its name was Bun Buns,” he said, trying to stop the story before she told it again.
“We had to put Bun Buns to sleep because he had a hairball…”

He had two choices, to listen politely, or interrupt because he had heard it before. Listen to that hairball story again. The babysitter killed Bun Buns because she didn’t give it the hairball medicine. It happened fifteen years ago when she was a kid, and every dead rabbit in the road still reminded her of Bun Buns. But he listened and then asked, “what should we get for dinner?”

After dinner, on the ride home, they passed Bun-buns again.

“Did you just run him over again?” she asked.
“No, he went between the tires.”
“You ran him over. I felt it. You are so disrespectful!”
“I didn’t feel anything. My tires didn’t touch it.”
“I can see him in the mirror. He looks flatter. You ran him over.”
“It’s already dead! That’s crazy.”
“You’re a bunny killer,” she said.

The next morning the couple had errands, and as they left the neighborhood, they saw Bun-buns, still splat in the road. Today, Bun Buns resembled less a rabbit, with the guts spread across the asphalt and picked over by birds.

“The bunny is still there!” she said.
“Want a lucky rabbit foot?”
“Stop,” she said.
“Let’s go cut one off. We’ll take it with us when we go play slots.”
“No way. It will curse you.”
“People pay a lot of money for those. I bet we could make some money doing that.”
“Cutting the paws off roadkill? They’ll arrest you for that.”
“Who will arrest me? People eat that stuff. I had a neighbor who used to grill whatever he found.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Really. That was first time I had deer jerky.”
“I can’t believe you would eat a deer. That’s like eating Bambi!”
“It wasn’t Bambi. It was her Mom.”

After the errands were done, and they were headed home, they passed the guts again. She sighed.

“People drive like idiots around here,” she said.
“Yeah, like you. Remember when you almost took out that two-year-old?”
“I did not. His mother should have been watching him.”
“It was probably the rabbit’s fault anyway. He probably froze scared in the middle of the road.”
“You stop. The bunny was innocent. You are so mean.”
“Squirrels do it too. They just stop and wait for you kill them.”
“I bet you kill them on purpose. I don’t know why I married you.”
“You remember that one time I hit a bird, and a feather flew in through the vent?”
“That was a feather from your coat.”

The next day, again they passed Buns-buns. Now Bun Buns was just a stain in the road, with some chunks of pelt.

“You gonna run him over again?” she asked.
“It’s not even there anymore. It’s just blood in the road.”
“Where are the people who clean the streets?”
“The crows clean it up.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s nature.”
“I hope you die in the street and I’ll let the crows eat you.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s true.”
“When you die, I’ll put you in the freezer in the basement,” he said.
“I’ll bury you next to my mother and father.”
“I don’t want to be buried in that cemetery with all those dead German people.”
“Too bad–my parents bought two extra plots for me and my husband.”
“I don’t even know those people.”
“You’ll be dead and you won’t have any control over it.”

And then overnight, it rained. The next day, the stain was gone. The couple were going to lunch, and they passed the spot once more.

“Look, the blood is gone now,” she said, frowning at the spot where Bun-buns spent the weekend.
“You owe me five dollars,” he said.
“We weren’t being serious.”
“I was being serious. I bet that the rain was hard enough to wash the blood off, and it did.”
“I’m not giving you five dollars for a blood stain.”
“Bad sport.”
“I can’t wait to put you next to my mother,” she said.
“Well you’re buying lunch then. You owe me,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“Bunny teryaki,” he said.