Tristan Potter

      In hare folklore, it is said that the constellation Lepus covered great distances in the galaxy. It had a passion for dashing swiftly amongst the stars for a countless number of light years. Pushed by the force of its eight favourite stars, it eventually came close to a horrific ball of rock blocking its path. Lepus became so frustrated that its energetic routine was disturbed that it started to box and kick, which in the process slowly covered the ball of rock in stardust.

After a time, Lepus noticed something. That something seemed to change. Evolve! Lepus was fascinated. After a time watching the progress and decline of so much different life, Lepus thought of an idea. One idea that could withstand everything that had been observed and show no flaws. The lagomorphs!

Lepus kept a constant eye on all of them. But, many dangers still threatened them. The hare lagomorphs reminded Lepus of itself the most - but they were the most mischievous with their ignorance. So, Lepus decided to give them all one final test. If they succeed, they will become supreme. If they fail, their world, without the guidance of their constellation, will become extremely disturbing.

    Somewhere, perhaps near yourself, inhabitants of this oh so progressively dismal planet presented deep feelings of what one could describe as pure melancholy. Some of these creatures, for example an unusual trio of gloomy and oblivious hares lingering on a hill under a lone oak’s shadow, were perhaps the most tragic. However, other abnormal bewaring animals, less obvious to an observer’s sight but no less melancholic, dwelled in the distant mystifying woodland or uninviting copses. Aquatic types submerged themselves in either the slow river, stream, deep lake or pond. The only evidence of their existence would be in an occasional ring of water if one was lucky enough to glimpse it. The remaining of such a great array of misfortunate life, which did not favour a tree or water, would hide deep in some shrouding undergrowth. In one case, such as with the panophobic kestrel, soared the skies so high for long periods of time to be greatly unnoticed. Why? No one really knows.

So the fact that nearly all of the wild inhabitants were hiding meant they knew something was to happen. Something which will make every one of them, no matter how stubborn or normal, convert to a similar feature. That being either complete and utter insanity, or a sense of reality.

   It’s May. A heavy cold drizzle lasted for what seemed like over an eternity before finally ceasing. It was now noticeable that the sheer silence of the area was shockingly deafening. Any animal which had been about had been soaked to the skin and desperately crawled to either their set, form, or burrow for a somewhat futile attempt at shelter. Droplets dribbled from a few of the emerging curved leaves of trees while somewhat surreal glistening bluebells at the base of a nearby copse blew gently in a quiet wind. One oak tree, being a more desolate tree than those trees of a woodland, was situated on top of a small hill. It held shelter for those three common hares we have mentioned. Uncommon that three hares would be together, for these creatures are either solitary or coupled. A rarity is the misfortunate trek to which one was about to embark and experience.

   The silence was all too abruptly broken when an ominous thudding sound lingered throughout. Within the shelter of this tree, which selfishly blocked out the glimmering early sunlight, the strangest of the trio - the russet autophobic hare, Jack - stamped the ground in a frantic endeavour in an attempt to awake his companions. One of those, I should add, was the superprecocial leveret known as Snowshoe.

“Bloody hell,” was the first and emotionless voice of the day which feebly brushed past the eldest mouth. "It gets worse every day. Just look around, younglings. Also, listen. This peacefulness. This quietness!" He twitched his ears and then hopped within longer grass shrouded by the darkest of shadow. “Unnatural. It’s bloody unnatural.”
Snowshoe opened one of her eyes slowly until stopping at no more than a slit. “Why, don’t be ridiculous,” she had replied with ease. She had an immature voice though she spoke sensibly. “On the contrary, I think it's very pleasant."
Jack peered at her unbelievably. "Pleasant? Of course."
"The countryside is always quiet, Jack. Especially when water has just fallen from the sky. Not every silence has a dark motive.” She opened her sandy coloured eyes more fully as Jack’s massive foot once again started stamping. Particles of water leapt into the air and brushed over her. “Oh please,” she added snobbishly. “You don’t need to try to equal an earthquake with that foot.”
Jack muttered unintelligibly before stopping the pounding for a moment to think about speaking again. His large crimson eyes glared frantically around the countryside beyond the hill. "I haven‘t seen any other hare, aside from us, for days, you know." He stood up and gave eminent glances at the younger animals. “In fact, I have noticed, quite confidently, that there are not really many creatures around at all. No crows, blackbirds… why, no bird songs at all.” He rose an ear higher. “No bleat from a sheep either. Not even a buzz from a wasp.”

He finished speaking with a long tight blink, like that of someone who was shocked that something so tinkering, like seeing the earth in front of you from space, could go so unnoticed by such apparent intelligential acquaintances. Especially Snowshoe, who, being superprecocial, had been classed as a genius among other hares.

    But Snowshoe and the other leveret, who was strangely silent and chillingly observant to everything in the south, paid little attention to Jack’s apparent rambling. This made his glances turn to one piercing leer. Snowshoe’s smaller ears erected to join Jack’s, and then she hopped out from the shadow before slowly starting to nibble on various wet buttercups. The sun, piercing through the grey clouds for the first time, peeked the country hills in the distance and shone down on her. This revealed her fur to be a beautifully light rusty brown and her belly a vibrant white, which then brushed feebly in a small gust as she glanced up before coming back into the shadow for cover gracefully.

“It‘s going to rain harder again soon,” she said ponderously. Speaking to herself more than the other hares, she started to trail off with a quieter intense voice.

    Jack suddenly hopped around nervously around the shadowed terrain in a short breath. He increasingly did not like the way his company would not take in what he was suggesting about the area. For days now, Jack had noticed that himself and the other two hares were the only animals for all the miles around. Snowshoe had blamed such a statement on Jack’s rather unique phobia (for a hare) - wanting attention, whether it be from another hare, a rabbit, a simple bug, or even a predator. But this old creature knew was he was saying had sense. He knew something was happening around him to beings great and small. Dwindling populations and uneasy silences. Dark skies and dying plants. In fact, the mere thought of the patronising idea that he merely had a phobia and nothing was really happening got him so worked up and he couldn’t help but shout out.

“Why, I’m not crazy. Where are the animals, younglings? Where?” The voice of the hare Jack had all too suddenly turned like a blazing out-of-control fire. He sounded uncharacteristically confident. The nameless leveret, whom had kept himself to himself before, stood up alerted.
“Quiet,” he had shushed sounding more like a hiss of a snake. “You want life? Look over there.” He irritably flickered his shiny wet nose towards the nearest dank woodland.

    Two large mysterious creatures, which looked like badgers but not quite so, were carrying an intimidating amount of small animals violently in their claws. They included shrews, hedgehogs, a magpie (Snowshoe convinced the others it was a swallow) and some unidentifiable deceased bodies in their foamy mouths, which they assumed were once some kind of frog or toad from the lake. The black and white-striped bodies of the devious appearing creatures were swiftly absorbed into the woodland area before anyone could really make out what was going on. Soon another, seeming coated more by an eternal shade than fur, followed in the initial tracks of the duo before it. This was one was much slower and was sniffing around as if it had just dropped something, or someone, it had been carrying.

    “What’s going on?” Jack’s words cried. He started to pound his foot in both excitement and fear. “Something’s telling me we should speak to him.”

The observant leverets gasped as the badger-like animal, obviously hearing this, stood on its hind legs and peered towards them with an unnatural glare within his eyes. Luckily, with Jack trailing behind, all of the hares had quickly dashed off behind the one tree hill before this freak of nature had noticed them.

UNFINISHED.

ANIMAL ASYLUM
Chapter I: Three Hares
The world isn't ending. Glance around.
It has already ended.