To Chase a Rabbit
#21 of Writing Prompt Group Submissions
Submission for prompt 17 of The Writing Prompt Group. For this prompt, the objective was to write a story the features an outsider's perspective.
A young businessman from the good part of town ventures into the less reputable area of the city. He chases down a young man who has hustled him out of his hard earned money and sees something beyond what he can believe. HE relates his tale to the bartender, and he learns that things are not always what you think they are.
As a bonus, the reader gets to choose how the story ends.
To Chase a Rabbit
The door swings open from the streets outside, and the twenty-six year old cicada walks into the dark, shady tavern and makes a beeline for the bar to take a seat on an unoccupied stool. Sweat adorns his entire body, causing his white skin and wings to reflect the dim lighting illuminating the establishment. He has just returned, after spending some time chasing down a pink rabbit who hustled him in a game of pool. The insect undoes the top button of his black shirt and takes off his black blazer, laying it in his lap. He calls for the attention of the bartender, a green turtle with a brown shell wearing brown denim shorts and an open, yellow button up shirt with green Hawaiian flowers. The distressed hemipteran orders a shot of gin, something a lot stronger than his usual fare. As the reptile pours the drink and sets it on the counter, the cicada begins to tell about what he has seen.
"I chased him down five streets and lost track of him. I spent the next few minutes throwing my head around every corner and alley I came across, and I was soon lost. After wandering for a time, I happened to spot the rabbit walking around a corner on the opposite side of the street. I rushed in his direction to accost him about cheating me out of my money. When I turned the corner, I saw him with a tall equine fellow, dressed in biker attire, who I thought to be an acquaintance of his, so I retreated back behind a light pole. I was too far away to catch what they were saying. I saw them go down an alleyway, so I felt it was safe to slowly approach, peeking in-between the two buildings to see what was happening."
The business man unrolled his proboscis, stuck it in the shot glass, and downed the alcoholic drink, motioning for another glass afterward. "My big, black eyes widened even more than usual when they saw the boy giving oral satisfaction to the horse's grey phallus. I was speechless, and my body froze from the shock. As I tried to process what I was witnessing, the young lapine stood up, let his pantaloons fall to the ground, and presented his backside to the obviously older man, who proceeded to...to...impale the lad. The boy's screams echoed throughout the alleyway.
"Then, I saw what I believed to be a policeman walking on the other side of the alley look in the direction of the public display of sex and walk up to the horse. When the officer was close enough, I noticed that he was an eagle. The avian called out to the equine. I assumed that he was going to stop what was happening." The cicada stops, takes a blue handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wipes down his sweat laden face. The insect places the cloth on the bar, as the turtle leans in to hear more of the tale, before continuing. "However, the bird pulled his...pecker out and shoved it into the lad's mouth. The officer moaned loudly as he and the equine violated the boy's tiny body.
"The horse ripped off the rabbit's red tank top and roughly pulled himself out of the lapine, allowing the law man to shove the boy into the brick wall of one of the buildings. The adolescent arched his back and screamed in pain as the two men masturbated quickly over his nubile frame. They orgasmed and spilled their seeds all over his exposed fur, painting his pink fur whiteas he slid down the wall to the grimy pavement. The two men dropped some money at the boy's hind paws; afterwards, they simply tucked their peckers in, zipped up, and walked away, talking as if they were having lunch with each other. When they turned the corner to walk into the street, the rabbit, with his denim jeans around his ankles, broke down in tears, and his cries reverberated down the alleyways. I saw people walking by the alley on the other side, but not a single one even looked in his direction."
The cicada unfurled his proboscis and downed another shot out of disconcertion. The insect cradled his head in his hands as he gathered his mental and emotional strength to finish his account. "While I stood there, frozen from a combination of shock and confusion that simply did not allow me to process what I had seen, the boy realized I was watching. With a look of shame on his face, he staggered onto his feet, turned his back to me, and bent forward as he used his paws to spread his firm buttocks and wiggled his cotton candy tail. I panicked and ran away; somehow, I found my way back here."
The white hemipteran goes silent as he tries to sort out the events that he has witnessed. He had come down to the less reputable part of the city from the more upscale area where he had grown up. Curiosity has compelled him many times to think about what he believed to be the seedy underbelly of urban civilization; tonight, that curiosity has happened to align with an assignment from his supervisor to pay a visit to a random dive bar. That is how he was brought to his current state of unease. The insect is ready to call it a night and return to his part of town, never to return.
The testudine, now standing up, reaches under the bar for a shot glass. He sets the glass on the table and fills it with whiskey for himself. "The kit has been through a whole hell of a lot." The turtle's voice is calm, knowing, and contrasts greatly with the more formal manner of the insect's. As the reptile takes a drink, the cicada looks up at the bartender expectantly. The old turtle places the glass back on the table. "Everyone who knows of him calls him Runaway, or Run for short. I don't know all the details, aside from the fact that he is eighteen, had a fucked up home life, was shipped from foster home to foster home, and ran away when he got tired of all the shit. It's a mystery where the boy came from, but he's here in this God forsaken, shit-stained part of this city now."
The amphibian gulps down his second glass of alcohol. His voice begins to grow steadily more pained and anguished as he continues to tell the new customer the lapine's story. "He can't find work anywhere. Few places are hiring, and those that are won't hire a homeless teenager with no experience or references. Every now and then, he comes in and hustles a few people out of their money. He's also been known to pick pocket the hoity-toity nouveau riche, who come from the upper-crust outskirts of town. Besides that, he prostitutes himself to scumbags with cash, a hard cock, and who can't find anyone besides a young man who is down on his luck and needs the few bills they are willing to put out to have their balls drained.
"Unfortunately, this city has no aid programs, and no one makes enough money to take the rabbit in. What he has as a house is an old, rundown shed behind the bar that I used to use for storage. I cleaned it out one day, intending to get rid of it. The next day, Run had moved in. He probably doesn't know that I own it, but I let him stay there. It's a fuck of a lot better than him having nowhere to lie his head after each day of scraping by is done."
The cicada looked upon the bartender in amazement. After his short venture into the bowels of the bad side of town, he had thought this place to be all the things his peers in the more well-to-do area said it was: dirty, lawless, doomed, and amoral. However, hearing the old turtle's words has, in the insect's opinion, shone a new light on this part of town that was so different from the one he has known all his life. Just as a small, hopeful smile is about to cross his face, the middle aged reptile speaks to all the bar's patrons.
"It's Saturday, everyone!" All the noise of the entire establishment ceases upon the call of the bartender's weekly ritual. He bends down below the counter and raises a small box to the bar, setting it down. "You all know the drill; put your donations in the box!"
One by one, every one of the regular patrons takes items up to the counter and places them carefully in the wooden crate as the cicada watches with rapt attention. The light brown lioness waitress in a black tube-top and dark blue daisy dukes gently lays a six pack of sodas in the container. An albino naga, approaching from the pool table and wearing a leather jacket and black bandana, adds a pile of old, but still intact, clothing. An older, but surprisingly hale, hoary fox wearing dusty khakis and a fedora steps nimbly up to the bar from the poker table, removes a silver ring forged with bands in the pattern of a Celtic knot, and places it gently in the collection box; the vulpine tips his fedora and nods to the insect before returning to his seat. A black, drag queen vulture, clad a red cocktail dress and heels, tosses in two packs of cigarettes and a disposable lighter. The burly rhinoceros bouncer in torn blue jeans and a dingy, brown muscle shirt lays a bag of fresh apples on top of the week's charity.
Finally, the owner of the bar pulls an envelope out of his shell, takes thirty dollars right out of the register, and places the money into the envelope. The turtle then closes the crate, picks it up, and calls for the waitress behind the bar to hold down the fort while he carries the donations to the rabbit's shed. The insect places the money for his drinks on the counter and follows the elder man out of the tavern to observe the old testudine's act of kindness.
[To see the happy ending: https://www.sofurry.com/view/783285]
[To see the sad ending: https://www.sofurry.com/view/786169]