Russian Roulette With The Easter Bunny

He was small and fluffy, but I wouldn’t really call him cuddly. There were odd stains in his fur, as if he’d had a life of hiding in tight, uncomfortable places. His fur was brown, but he had the odd, unsettlingly red eyes of an albino rabbit. His voice was pleasant and chipper, but seemed forced and insincere, somehow. Not a bad guy, really. Just a bit…. off, I guess.

“C’mon Dave, are we doing this or not?” he asked, tapping his cigarette and allowing ashes to drop onto the floor of the kitchen.
“It’s getting late, and those kiddies will all be rising and shining soon.”

I’d been staring at the gun for what seemed like forever. It looked to be made of hollow chocolate (“Hollow point chocolate?”, I thought to myself with a smirk).
So what was the game here? Call his bluff? And to what end?

The small, plump, and admittedly cute, rabbit shifted in his seat. Most likely to express impatience as a method of intimidation. But he also had a slight limp when he hopped, so who knows?

Almost without thinking about it, I reach out and grab the small, chocolate gun. Too late I feel it’s heft, and realize my mistake as I take a bite. The small blast sends my teeth onto the kitchen floor, rattling and clacking like a fist-full of jelly beans. Or maybe the sound actually was jelly beans, knocked onto the floor from his basket by the force of the explosion.

I guess that I’ll never know.