Bunny at the Window

by: Gaston Caba

Mother, I write to you in a state of purple radish despair. My mind is in a downward spiral, and I don’t know what it will do next. I am lost. The sun holds no sparkle, it is a limp white wine. The trees, I cannot even see them. I hear monkeys. The voices of monkeys everywhere. At first I thought it was a passing fad. My imagination playing a simple ruse. Yet now it happens daily. I have not even eaten a banana in three weeks. It usually begins around 11am, a time when my sanity becomes washed away in a ferocious wave of virile monkey screams which pierce my hot heated head from every direction. I feel I am losing myself in this ocean. My mind even keeps insisting that I retreat to the sewers. Apparently I will be safe there. Obviously I cannot do this. How would a young rabbit exist in a world of excrement, dark water pipes and vermin. It is neither possible nor plausible. Yet my mind keeps urging this action, and I feel that soon I will lose control and end up with a waste shaft for an warren. Mother I need you. I need you to stop the monkeys. I am falling from the sky... Yours in hope. Alexander.

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