"When will this farm ever seriously listen to whatever I have to say", expressed Rueben in political anxiousness.
Rueben is a rabbit. A cute, white furry rabbit. Ripe of rabbit age 1 year old equivalent to human year of 31. Rueben is strong, handsome and intelligent. Much can't be said the same about other rabbits in his farm. And Rueben is special. Rueben ran around the fields since young at 1 mths old, with great aspirations about his future. All other rabbits are happy they have enough to eat. Rueben was born to be somebody. Rueben thinks he is the messiah of his kind. And everyday without fail, he glances past the barbed wired fence over to the green pastures on the far side.
As Intelligent as Rueben is , He is equally charming. With a masculine chiseled face, and a body swarming full of manly aroma, Rueben had stalled many a girl's heart whenever his footsteps swept past a female. Rueben is sickeningly full of charisma, overflowing with magnetic allure. But Rueben has no place in his heart for amorous affairs. He couldnt even be stirred by the sight of lustful glances from whining females eager to get laid by Rueben in hot steamy manners. How many other rabbits would have given in to such temptations to spread their paws and consummate their rodent sexual instincts.
But Rueben is special. Rueben is focused. Rueben was born to be a leader, a leader who will one day break the bondages of slavery, and part the red lake surrounding the farm to bring his kind out into salvation. But Rueben's days are limited. He doesn't know when but his bones can feel the chill of the premonition.
"My fellow rabbits, Mr Jones appears kind. He lets us all run freely in our fenced field. He allows us to munch on the grass in his field. He lets us build little corners of self accomplishment. He appears very much a friend of us, but is that really so? " bellows Reuben aloud on his makeshit cardboard pulpit. The microphone strangely is a carrot. As humans, we could never understand how that amplifies sound. but this is the animal kingdom, and strange things do happen out of human sight.
In the swelling crowd of rabbits, brown, white, black, spotted, grey, a meek rabbit found strength to voiced out. With a pair of black rim old fashion tortoise spectacle resting on the tip of his rabbit nose, Rahab said in soft stammering tones,
"But..but.. Mr Jones is go..goo...good to us. Remember during last.. lass... last year's drought, when his..hiss...his wife Mrs Jones proposed to save te...thhe....the .... farm from getting into money problems n...nnn...and... closing down, she... decided to make....make..make every rabbit giv...give... her 5 pieces of cow grass for every future activity we do..do....do... in the farm, Mr Jon...Jone...Jones actually acted against his own wife n...nnn...and... give each of us three stalks of c.....co.....cow... grass to tide over the drought. Which farmer would be so..so ......so kind to us? I mean he is really generous you know. He is our He...Hero....you know."
"Ahhhhhhh....!!!!!!!!"........In the far end of the farm, Mr Jones and Mrs Jones in obvious marital bliss are in a mysterious shed, reeking of metallic blood smell from which came the murderous scream. Strangely, the rabbits dismissed that sound away, they have heard it every so often that its a norm. Mr Jones had previously told them that that is the place where Mrs Jones practised her opera tones, and that she needs to constantly rehearse for her role as a murder victim in her village theatre. Coincidentally, there's always a truck which has a advertisment " Good Rabbits. Nice meat" parked outside that shed. This truck leads to other dark places which the rabbits never knew. In any case, rabbits being rabbits, really do believe Mr Jones, and whatever the truck is delivering no rabbit ever knew in his/her lifetime. And no rabbit is educated enough to know what does meat" stand for. There was once when some rabbits got bold enough to ask Mr Jones about the truck, these rabbits came back without an answer, soul less and ended isolating themselves from the pack. And within weeks, Mr Jones came happily and exclaimed that these rabbits have asked to leave the farm, and are merrily settled into a land far far away. No one knows where. And so every now and then, the rabbits naively dismiss the chilling murderous screams which comes from that mysterious shed. "Its Mrs Jones rehearsing again," they said.
Back to the makeshift cardboard pulpit, Rueben replied, his back facing a barn (full of cut cow grass enough to fill the stomachs of 20 generations of rabbits, but no one in the farm knew what was inside that barn) across the field in another adjacent farm coincidentally also belonging to Mr Jones. Only his most trusted aides, the fanging fierce rottweilers are allowed to do there, have been there before. "We have helped Mr Jones plough the land, work our guts out for him running the farm. Managing his chickens. Giving him 5 pieces of every cow grass for every thing we do," at this moment, something just didnt add up, 5 pieces of cow grass the Rabbits gave and the 3 pieces they recieved from Mr Jones, but Rueben, like all other rabbits are intellectually challenged when it comes to Maths, just couldnt explain why he felt something was amiss. Dismissing it temporary away,"And now when it comes to the time for us to choose which farmer to lead us for the next ten years, this thing has to happen."
........................... to be continued
