The Jolly Reaper

April 27, 2013
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Cold steel on hot flesh; this is truly the greatest sensation of all, taking a life. I have done this many times, each with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. They have taken to calling me the Jolly Reaper. And I am just fine with that as that is exactly who I am. I listen to each rabbit’s frail beating heart and that I listen as it stops. The cities are full of rabbits. And all are so scared, poor rabbits. They can’t be scared if they are dead. And I’m good at making rabbits not scared.
I went into the city that night because there was to be a ball. I love parties. Like rabbit farms. I enter the doors in costume and start a conversation with some delightful young debutants. Soon a cop calls out. They recognize me! I pull off my mask and grab the debutant closest to me. I pull out a knife. “No one move or I kill her!” In the silence, I hear a glass drop. I pull out a gun and shoot the nearest rabbit. He falls dead to the floor.

“You think I’m kidding?” I put my blade to her throat and say, “What is your name dear?”

“Melissa Walker.” She says, confidant and unwavering.

“Why, Melissa, you don’t sound scared, you are scared, aren’t you?”

“Not of you. I’m more scared that the cops haven’t gotten me out of this yet. They’re so incompetent.”

“Confident, aren’t you? So brave, not scared at all. Not scared at all. You’re no fun.” I drop my knife and start to walk away. The cops realize what is happening and start to shoot. I crash out a window and run. That Melissa, I must see her again. I think it must be love, for she is not a rabbit to me anymore. She is a girl, or more, a woman.

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