Wacky Wednesday – “The Bunny”

30 May

It is the year 2107.

A red oak box, simply made but beautiful, is framed by velvet curtains. A sparkling portal to the midnight sky hangs behind it. The box is as tall as a man, and like the sarcophagi of the (very) ancient pharaohs, engraved upon the surface with the likeness of one, too. His countenance is sophisticated, urbane – a bon viveur, frozen in relief. His eyes are closed in silent, immovable serenity.

A woman’s hand, dainty and pale, brushes along the contours of the box absent-mindedly.

She is lost in thought, in space, in a time long past. Standing in this hallway has transported her to a golden age. A song is playing – she can hear the creamy notes of a saxophone, the light hiss and tap of the drums slithering up her spine like a lover’s finger. Her nostrils flare, filled with the sharp fragrance of pipe tobacco.

She closes her eyes, and sees the silvery streak of a nightclub. Elegant men and women slouch across slanted furniture. Ice clinks in their glasses and smoke encircles their heads; their eyes are bright and their laughter is real and happy. Everything is lush, and colourful, and mellow. In her mind’s eye, the bygone zeitgeist radiates out in glorious Technicolor waves. Everyone is having such an excellent time.

Oh, how she yearns for that era! How bright the world must have seemed, how free and open and full of possibility! She belonged back then, she thinks – back in a time full of life and love, with those who could see the darkness rising on the horizon, and who chose to live it up while they still could.

She opens her eyes and is yanked back to the present. Her hand pulls away from the polished wood, and hangs behind her back as she clasps her hands, and keeps walking. Her fingers fiddle idly with the fluffy tuft at her tailbone.

As she disappears into the dark, the moonlight shifts ever so slightly over the box.

Hugh Hefner’s smooth oaken face seems to smile.


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