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The Bunny Rabbit

By Daniel Morris

Previously Written in 1999

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Act One, Scene One: A Room in David’s House

By mere definition, she was the epitome of innocence. There she sat, maybe a step above the angels (for even they were charged with folly), surrounded by modern Gomorrah. Corruption flew from hasty lips to eager ears around her, above her, but no ungodliness could penetrate her soul.

 

“You ready?” Chastity asked. He was so absorbed in his writing that he barely noticed her presence in the room, let alone in the house. She lived next door with her roommate. His roommate (her boyfriend) might have let her in, or maybe the door was just open. Their living situation on the outskirts of campus was pretty lax.

 

It was 6:25. Class started at 6:30. It took a lot for Chastity to rush someone, but she didn’t want to be too late for Visual Psychology. Not Visual Psychology.

 

“Yeah.” It was odd. She had caught him just as he finished a thought. Normally, an interruption would’ve been just that—an interruption. He mentally ticked another checkmark on his list of Ways That Chastity Is Perfect.

 

“Why didn’t you come get me earlier, Lil' Most Unlikely to Succeed?”

 

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’d rather I be late?”

Chastity smiled. “Is that the short story you’re writing about me?”

 

“It’s not about you, Lil' Egocentric. I’m just using you for inspiration.”

 

“Can I read it?”

 

“I’m using you! Hah! Get it? No, you can’t read it. You know what time it is?”

 

“I know, but we’re already late—”

Dan huffed. “Man, go ahead.”

 

She blessed the air she walked through and graced

a seat. Oh, how he yearned to be that chair. In many

ways, though, he was. An inanimate object, to her.

Overlooked.

“What party was this?” the Bunny Rabbit questioned.

 

“I made it up, Lil' Unreal Reality,” Dave laughed. “I am on it today!”

 

“You know, Dave, I’m not really that innocent,” she said, rising from the chair.

 

“I know, Lil' Devil Made Me Do It,” he replied as they walked downstairs. “It’s a fic-shun-al story.”

​
 

Act One, Scene Two: Visual Psychology
In class, everyone chatted as they drew in their journals. It should be stated, that this was no ordinary college. The students attended an art school, so one might view their day-to-day projects as nontraditional, to say the least.

 

“What are you working on Lil' Unartistic?” It was Jay. He was the third Musketeer, if the three Musketeers were three black art students in a mostly white art school.

 

He looked over her shoulder to see her drawing. It was a bunny rabbit with the horns of a devil and the tail of a dragon grazing in a field with the sun on the horizon.

 

“This Psychology class ain't helpin' is it?” He looked over at Dave,” What's Lil' Lil' Lil' Lil' Lil Lil--'” He was stuck in a loop. The three busted out laughing.

 

“Okay, settle down.” The teacher said. Sergeant McPherson was an ex-marine who just happened to be an artist. He was such a badass that the other teachers called him Sergeant.

 

Dave, wearing a look that said “I told you so,” showed the tri his entry: an homage to The Last Supper, with himself, Will, and Chastity in the center, framed by crosshairs. Chastity nodded, feeling the weight of being one of only three African American students in the class—and about fifteen in the entire school. She didn’t seek special treatment; she craved invisibility among the sea of nameless faces.

“Okay, kids. Pass in your journals,” Sergeant McPherson ordered. “As you know, next Tuesday is your final, worth a third of your grade. Cheat packets will be printed tomorrow. The first part is multiple choice; the second part is essay form. You should’ve started studying, but if not, get to it now. Don’t wait until the last minute.”

Such mercy for such a hard ass. Dave looked over at his crush.
 

She half-listened as the professor concluded his

session. Nothing he said could possibly agumnet

her soul, therefore it was irrelevent. 

​

“...and that’s it. Class dismissed.”

As laughter filled the room, Chastity locked eyes with the professor, sensing an awkward tension.

 

“Come on, Lil' Slow, don’t poke me or you’ll get me pregnant,” Dave quipped.

 

“That was stupid,” Jay said, “No. You're stupid,” Jay corrected himself, “No. Nevermind. I can't eve call you stupid, because then I would be insulting stupidity,” Jay confirmed.

 

As they exited, Chastity felt eyes on her. She lowered her head and glanced over her shoulder at Sergeant McPherson, who was organizing journals. It was all in her head. She reassured herself. But as she followed the boys out, the sensation returned.

​
 

Act Two, Scene One: That Room in David’s House

Her soul was torn, half subsiding and half silently yearning for justice. She felt like King David, asking, “How long will the wicked prevail?” And thus was life: boys are born "bad" while girls are born "good," and men inherit the earth because of this. Is it really fallacious, then, to break the laws in order to explore? Why, if this makes one superior? Maybe King Solomon contemplated this same question.
 

“You ready?” Chastity asked. Her timing was impeccable. Dave made the mistake of looking up.

 

There she stood in a formfitting blue sequence dress and matching purse.

It accented every curve and complimented every

arch. A heavenly body, which made men yearn to sin.
 

He lipped the word “damn,” and then snapping back into his humorous default

 

“Yeah I'm ready Lil' Impatient.”

 

“You told me I should interupt you if we're running late.”

 

“Thanks for reading that back to me, Lil' Lil' Stenographer.”

 

He honestly had forgotten that the school's formal was today. Maybe subconsciously  They went to an art school. What fun would it be? The only reason she was going was to make a cameo with Dan's roommate (her boyfriend). She wanted the rest of the girls at the school to see them together.

 

“So, I'ma drop you off at class and then you'll go to the homecoming afterwards?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I mean, Geeze, do you want me to pick you up, too, or can your boyfriend give you a lift for once?”

 

They smiled at each other.

 

“What class you got?”

 

“African Art History.”

 

“African?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Art?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“History?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“African Art History? With Who?”

 

“Sergeant McPherson.”

 

“African Art History with  Sergeant McPherson?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“White Sergeant McPherson teaches Black African Art History, as a night class as well as Visual Psychology in the day?”

She laughed.

 

“I did not know that,” he said, “You better be careful. I think he likes you.”

​
 

Act Two, Scene Two: The School

“Get out!” Dave said this before stopping the car, “I'll be in the game room if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks Dave.”

 

“Whatever. Go.”

 

She stepped to the curb and her high heel hit the concrete with a wobble. As her ankle bent, David reached for her, reactively.

 

“You okay?” Dave asked, sincerly.

 

“Yeah,” She laughed, slightly embarrassed.

 

“Be careful, before you kill yourself with those things.”

 

Act Two, Scene Three: Black African Art History

 

After class, Chastity was walking out when she got the sensation again—like she was being watched. This time, she was almost certain of it. It didn’t matter though. In a few steps, she’d be out the—

 

“Miss Williams, can I have a moment of your time?”

 

She turned.

 

“You missed your last presentation.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t get a ride. You said there was an extra credit/make-up day near the end of the semester?”

 

“That’s correct. It’s coming up pretty soon.”

 

“When is it?”

 

“It’s on your syllabus.”

 

“I don’t—” she glanced down at her dress, as if pockets might suddenly appear, “—have it on me.” His eyes followed her motion but lingered for a second before meeting hers again.

 

“I think I have an extra one here. Do you have a moment?”

 

“I don’t, actually. I have to go.”

 

He ignored her and opened his file cabinet. She glanced at the clock.

​
 

Act Two, Scene Four: Outside of the Game Room

Jay looked at the back of his wrist as if there was a watch there.

 

“No! I'm late for the Formal.” The two laughed, “Who actually goes to those things?”

 

“Little Miss Black Barbie is going.” Dave said.

​

"You ain't going with her, Lil' Ugly Ugly Nobody Loves Me?” Jay asked with a smile that preceded a chuckle.

 

“Nah. She's going with her boyfriend.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That's wild,” Jay stated, “The good girls always go for the bad boys.”

 

Dave smiled as he looked through his car's window. On the passenger's side was Chastity's purse.

 

“Look what Lil' Miss Forget Me Not left. What time is it?”

 

Jay looked at the back of his wrist again as Dave opened the car door.

​

 

Act Two, Scene Five: The Classroom

Professor McPherson finally found what he was looking for.

 

"Here you go."

 

She had tried to be polite, but no more. She snatched the syllabus from his hand and stood up to leave. She had one hand on the door when he said, “Chastity.” She turned, half irritated, half unnerved by the way he used her first name. It sounded so creepy coming from him. 

 

"Did you ever get that cheat packet for the Psychology final?"

 

At this point, she was ready to just leave. But unfortunately, she needed that cheat packet more than she needed the syllabus. She didn’t even really need the syllabus; she could have found it when she got home. But she did need that packet.

 

He pulled it out of one of his drawers, leaned over his desk, and dropped it on top. As she walked to fetch it, he moved past her. Why didn’t he just hand it to her? Where was he going? Was he leaving? And why did she still feel his breath lingering on her neck? She realized he had been too close for comfort.

 

Then she heard a click as the door locked.

​
 

Act Three, Scene One: Dave’s Car

“You should carry this purse over for me,” Dave said.

 

“How 'bout I don't and say I did?”

 

“What should I do?”

“I don't know Lil' Miss I Don't Want No One to Know That I Carry Purses On The Weekends When No One's Looking.”

 

“That was a long one!” Dave said, spotting a shopping bag on the floor of his car.

 

“I know!” 

 

He slipped the purse in the bag and held it up to a street light to inspect.

 

“You're still carrying a purse,” Jay said.

​

 

Act Three, Scene Two: The Classroom, Again

“We, all of us, are insane. Our baser instincts have been subdued by a new form of civility,” Seargent McPherson said, unprompted, as he stepped toward Chastity.

She stared into his eyes, confused, wondering why this man had suddenly lost his damn mind.

 

“Our baser instincts have been subdued by a new form of civility.”

Why does he keep saying that? Where was it from? Was it from class? Which class? Psychology? History? These nervous thoughts began to swirl, overtaking her confusion.

 

“But what is civility?” he asked, walking slowly toward her. “It's defined as formal politeness and courtesy in behavior. It’s political correctness. It’s a facade.”

 

She froze as the teacher delivered this new unorthodox lesson. She wasn’t just nervous—she was worried.

 

We, all of us, are insane. We are not insane because we would murder if there were no law. We are not insane because we teach gym—mixed with physical education and health—yet don’t teach a class on how to raise children. We are insane because we disrespect nature by ignoring and going against what we were programmed to do. We are the only animal that can starve itself. We are the only animal that can commit suicide. We are the only animal that will put procreation on hold for education.

 

To say the whole situation was distracting would be an understatement. Maybe that’s why she didn’t realize how close he had come to her. Chastity was now scared. She glanced at the back door. He had only locked the one at the front of the class. The other might still be unlocked.

Sergeant McPherson looked down at Charity, warm air from his nostrils enveloping her face. “Do you know that women have orgasms during rape?”

 

She exploded toward the door, but he turned and pushed, redirecting her momentum toward the wall. She tried to self-correct, hitting a student's desk and grabbing onto it, her knees slamming to the ground. He seized her, digging his thumbs into her collarbones and his fingers into her neck and shoulders with crippling force. She was flung onto his desk as his massive arms wrapped around her biceps and triceps. Her arms and fist-tightened wand wreathed as she tried desperately to escape from his grasp. Alarm mixed with her fear to create terror.

 

Chastity kept fighting as the teacher pressed his heavy body against hers. She bent her wrist at an awkward angle to reach his side, digging her nails into his skin. He let out a bellow of pain. She felt her left arm slip free from his grasp for a fleeting moment. A white flash pierced her vision as a powerful blow sent her head spinning in another direction. She opened her eyes, feeling the warmth of pain radiate from her cheek. His hands gripped her wrists, leaving her almost breathless.  His undeserved manliness hardened against her inner thigh. Disgust mixed with her terror.

 

The more she attempted to free herself, the harder he pressed against her. His stomach was smashed against hers; his protruding, hers collapsing. Exhaust mixed with her disgust.

 

Feeling her strength wane, the devilish man lifted her form-fitting sequined dress. He kept his chest pressed hard against hers and pushed her panties to the side. With one hand, he undid his pants while gripping both her forearms with the other. The invader inserted his fingers into her, targeting that which he intended to defile. Panic flooded her as the horrifying realization struck: she was about to be raped.

 

Adrenaline surged through her veins, mixing with her panic as she resolved that she would not let this happen. As he released her momentarily to position himself, a fierce anger extinguished every other emotion in her soul. It energized her, sending a surge of strength down to her leg, which she used to drive a rapid knee into his groin. Disabled by the blow, she pushed him off, summoning every ounce of strength to fight back, throwing punches at his face with all her might.

 

She spun and grabbed one of the student desks—too heavy for her to lift under normal circumstances—and swung it with every bit of force she could muster toward his upper body. The impact was so powerful that he was lifted off the ground and slammed back down. Breathless, she felt her energy drain, but she was still breathing.  She didn’t have the energy to stand. But she was still standing. And She was still angry.

 

Sergeant Mcpherson only locked the one door because he had only been teaching African American Art in this class for a semester.  In the class he was accustomed to teaching, Psychiatry, there was only one door. He always forgot this room had two. The door at the back of the class was the one Jay and Dave entered.

 

The most innocent person in the world walked around

the most demon-like. She stood near his head and

looked into his eyes, seeing everything impure and hideous in life. 

He looked up at her with a shameful,

apologetic stare. She looked back through him with

a cold, unforgiving gaze. She lifted her leg, giving

the corrupted one last look at what he tried to defile.

Her high heel stomped into his cornea, through his

retina, embedding itself into his pituitary gland in less than a second.

The evil blood that pulsates through every living

being on earth squirted onto her skin. It melted into

her pours and dissolved into her bloodstream,

claiming its last victim.