Mary Robertson (graphic)
HUMOUR — My name is Harry Hopper. I can’t remember the last time I saw another rabbit. I can’t even remember what a rabbit looks like. I pray that others survived the Great Purge as well, but for all I know I am the last of haremanity.
The Daywalkers came in waves with cages and nets. They took my family; they destroyed my hole. I still remember my wife’s last words. She made this kind of clicking noise; it was kind of tough to hear but she sounded upset. The Daywalkers took my life away, and now all I have left is my thirst for vengeance. I won’t let them take me and roast me like they did the others. I keep my distance. I wait for opportunities. I observe.
Not long after the sun rises, the Daywalkers emerge. They are tall, hairless monsters who groan and moan as they slouch around, eating compulsively and mating obsessively. The strongest and most agile of the Daywalkers are also the least intelligent. They gather in large open fields where they are easy to track, and they seem obsessed with chasing balls like dogs. Shame for them; I dig holes in their fields and they fall right in, breaking their wretched bones. I whisper in the ears of bumbling, gullible deer, I tell them to run in front the Daywalker’s vehicles, and lo, the great crashes they cause. And every so often, I’ll allow some young Daywalker to spot me and follow me in to the forest. Those ones are never found. I cull the Daywalker’s numbers slowly, systematically. I’m a bunny without a cause.
•
I think I’m finally wearing the Daywalkers down. As the year progresses they move slower, the life drains from their eyes and fewer emerge in the morning. At night, I hop east to where the young Daywalkers sleep. I’ve made them restless with agony! Many scream and howl like dogs; others groan all night together and cry out to their gods in pain!
I know that one day the Daywalkers will come for me. I keep my round furry body chiselled and powerful to prepare for the day I must fight back. I strictly follow a high protein diet of nuts and grass, and a lot of carrots because that’s not actually a stereotype. Carrots are the cocaine of vegetables. I lift twice a day and every night I bounce a grueling 1K. Those monsters thirst for my flesh, but I’m not going down without a fight. Though I scamper through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil.
You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you Daywalkers all this? Because even now, it’s too late for you. My final plan is underway. As you can see, this “Martlet” is already mine, just as the UVSS has been mine for months . . . Or did you think the UVSS just happened to lack all sense of boundaries and foresight? That was me. It was all me. The age of Daywalkers is ending. I know where you eat; I know where you sleep . . . But where am I? I am coming for you.
