Here is your prompt, and I’ll admit it’s definitely an odd one. This might just be a man in a bunny suit — a bunny man. Or, it may be a bunnyman. Or a man-bunny. Or…well, look, this story is yours to tell. I’m sure you have an amazing tale of…whatever is happening in this picture right now.
Might as well tell us, yes? You have 100 words, which you can put in the comments here or at your own web site with a link back to us, please.
Give us some story love this weekend!
(Photo Credit: RyanMcGuire on Pixabay)
(Any comment left on the Phantom Sway site is hereby licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License and may be used under the terms of that license or any later version of a Creative Commons Attribution License.)
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Being a bunny man is often frowned upon in this day and age. Being a furry, means to be free. And thus I go hopping down the bunny trail. Nevertheless, lately being a furry is not enough. The stress of hiding behind a custom and trying to pretend to like another furry as people has gotten me. I think I have mange now from sleeping around with other furies. This is the problem for us furies who to trust. Being the bunny man is not all it is cracked up to be. To hopping down the bunny trail tell next time.
And as the sun rose over the hills, John stood there. In the bunny costume; bloody and soiled. Wondering if anyone would believe him.
After one deep breath, steeling himself against what had to come next, John began the long walk to the dry cleaner’s.
“Feral toddlers. Why’d it have to be feral toddlers this time?”
His obituary was in the paper this morning. Before him there had been no purpose, no reason for life. They had been the best of friends. But he met a woman, fell in love, married. They became distant. Soon a child came along. He’d visited her when she was young. The visits became sparse, then stopped. It had been years since any contact. Now at their “place,” tears fell. “I love you Elwood,” Harvey whispered as the paper fell from his hands.