Reptiles and Hares


The rabbit, in a sweet voice, would always ask me questions.

“Why is your trunk so large? Why do you have tusks like ugly, ivory spears? Why are your ears like clumsy banana tree leaves, always flapping?

Then, with her soft, gentle fur, she would come and cuddle with me, always making sure to say "Make sure you don’t crush me; you know that elephants are far bigger than bunny rabbits.” So, I would gently lift her small body and hold her close, being ever so cautious, ever so careful.


The crocodile, between each powerful weep, would always give me kind words. 

“Your color is like a powerful, mighty smoke. Your tough hide shelters your gentle heart. The giant steps you take are to clear the way for your friends.”

The crocodile, in their rough, scaly skin, would always weep, for they faced questions of their own. “Are you really a crocodile? Are you actually an alligator who pretends to be a turtle? What sort of reptile are you?” With each body wracking sob, I would hold them close and try to stop the questions from coming through. The rabbit laughed. “No one ever confuses me for a hare.”


People hunted the crocodile, hoping to strip the scales off in order to accentuate cheap outfits. The bunny rabbit would smile, like sour candy, for the only thing they longed for was the sweet touch of others; many gave their souls just to pet her once.

The rabbit finally left me for a boar. “Elephants are far too big for little bunny rabbits like myself; you should be glad I was your friend for so long.”

The crocodile stayed, but gave no reason why. I don’t ever question it, I just try to make sure no one sees them weeping.


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