I'm a student at Fullerton Junior College that has finally broken the chains of tuition fear. I've finished all of the requirements for an AA in English, and with no other possible classes to take, I will finally be transferring to big boy college. I believe that one day I will become a successful, published author. I do not have motivational posters. I don't read quotes from long deceased authors for inspiration. No, I go to Costco and see the awkward grinning faces of "Best Selling Authors" strewn about in a pile of bargain books that people are actually BUYING. If I can churn out and mass-produce feel good self-help books or write generic uplifting books about a boy name Dale overcoming adversity in a small town rife with racism. Dale has a friend who's East Indian, and his Uncle Joseph fought in a covert operations in New Guinea where he encountered many East Indian guerrillas. Their friendship is tested when his East Indian friend, Siddhartha falls down a well, and Dale's arms are not long enough to reach him! But his Australian friend Kirk is 8 feet tall, but Siddhartha hates Australians! It is a coming of age story that transcends generations. Everyone has something to learn from each other. I know I'll make it someday.
Explanatory note: this assignment asked us to create a Canterbury Tales-styled story in which a character introduced them self in a prologue and told a story that ended up revealing a few unwanted details about them. I saw the word "Prologue" and "Story" and said "Have at it!" and wrote away merrily. There was a typo on the instructions that set up the initial scenery as broken down elevator to a party bus to Las Vegas, so I followed through with what I had and set that up as the initial scenery as well. The story is a prequel to the life of the Trix rabbit.
A faint crackling buzz broke the hushed silence. Emergency lights flickered on lazily, blooming bright at first, and fading to a comfortable dimness. A quick glance around the elevator revealed that 35 people stood with their arms crossed, raising one arm, hand out, palm up, asking what was going on when they probably already knew what was going on- and wanted nothing more than to hear the sound of their own voice. When the din of feigned confusion died down did everyone notice a figure not quite like themselves. There sat in a corner a pure white figure, of the shortest, finest fur lining his body. He sat clutching his shins, his face to his knees, a pair of fine but sad ears draped over him. “It appears nothing in this life that I pursue am I to have.” The white figure said in a dull, cracking voice.
“Many troubled years fill my head, so few I lived, and few more till I am dead. Not until I noted that the candle of my life burned to nothing did I understand the folly of my ways. My life’s plans shrank from years, to months, and now only days. I had at once a reason to my life, nay, a purpose. In my youth I knew a young girl, though it were we just met, we knew nothing save for death would dare separate us.”
His voiced trailed off, and he pulled his arms tighter around himself. He grew silent for many moments, idle chatter spread and awkward stares went his way. He raised his head, raised an arm- up, his hand. “Forgiveness, friends, nostalgia warms the heart whilst it chills the soul. In remembrance of a good life once had, of false leadings lead dark to a downfall, all this began and ended from a bowl. She was but the age of 16, and already knew that death’s price soon she would reap. Life was over with me, as it was for her, when I watched her go into that final sleep. Know this. My life’s purpose was for her. I knew her life was short, so I made so for my own. I’ve run out of rhymes, so begins my tale.”
Trix Rabbit’s Tale
“The end. The scope of my life once wide has narrowed to nothing. No purpose, no reason. Though blood flows through my veins and keeps my heart beating, the soul is long dead. When once her smile gave me the very reason for life, it is now a simple reminder of the suffering I bare for us both. Her lips were parted now, no breath or words escaping them. I closed my eyes and feel tears fall past my cheeks. I kiss her one final time and taste that sweet succor that seemingly gave her the joy to express such a smile. I may have imagined it, hoped for it, when it appeared her lips drew back one last time into that fair smile before fading to nothingness.”
The Rabbit stretched his legs out before him, his feet pointing up diagonally to either direction. He drew one leg close to him, hugged his knee and rested his chin upon a wrist. He closed his eyes and lowered his hand, and remained quiet for many moments reflecting upon his memories before he continued. “I returned home and sat in my room many days shunning the world. How could a being such as God deny the world of such a blessing? Such a beautiful and pure being? He took the only Angel from this Earth and cast myself into Hell. There was no joy left for me in this world. Everything around me was a method to end my suffering. Scissors, belt, electrical outlet, razor, glass cup, open windows, hammer, life, love…”
As his voice trailed off, his pink nose began to twitch. “Before I were to do anything to myself, anything, I had to say good bye to her one final time. I already knew there was no next life, nothing waiting for me here or there… Just the long slumber into oblivion. There would be no joyful reunion, just a tearful goodbye to my memories.”
“Her funeral was a small and simple precession. What joys she had in life were the joys of nature, not in possession. Her body lay delicately in that coffin. Her arms folded across her breast, forever shutting in and out the feelings of her heart. I laid my hand atop her head for many moments. Her skin hung loosely around her face, the color drained from her skin. It harrowed me to see her this way, but this would be my final image and memory of her in my mind. I bent to kiss her on the forehead, but stopped myself short. Though this visage pervades my vision, I will not allow the memory of our final kiss be sullied in this manner.”
The Rabbit lowered his leg, and straightened his posture upon the wall. He crossed his legs, one under the other, and placed his hands on top of either knee. “So I decided, once I had left, that there was to be no more of me in this world. My purpose, her happiness, was gone. I visited her home one final time a day later. Her mother greeted me silently at the door, and I asked if I might visit her daughter’s room for a memento. She smiled, her lips too tired to hold the shape quivered, and slowly faded back to the dead expression it held before. Her room was still as it was the day she died. A sparse few plush animals lay atop her dresser, well loved and taken care of. A frame with our gleeful, innocent expressions born across it stood beside them. That day we did nothing more but lay on our backs and view the skies. Idly pointing at clouds that drifted across the sky as if they cared not where they went. We loved each other’s company. We needed nothing. When I looked into her face, and as she gazed at me, I felt sensations growing in my chest and chills that pervade my body the whole way around. My mind felt at ease. I would… run my hand down her face… and hold her chin in my palm. I would… bring my face close to hers, look into those gay eyes- her lips would be gently and coyly pressed together and I--”
“Stop. I shut my eyes, my mind, and heart. Those memories did nothing more than pain me day by day. How cruel is happiness, how painful joy! Not once would I suffer in life had I not known happiness!”
“But sir, some have said that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all!” A voice quickly broke in.
“That person was a fool, and never knew what it was to be loved and to feel love for another. Fancy tales told to gullible and stupid children. Pah! I’d imagine that none of you were born out of love and only out of necessity, some stupid in-borne gene that tells us all to spawn and spawn and spawn! We drape it in lies and hope that we sentient beings are so much higher and better than the rest of these filthy beasts and animals that live on this Earth. At least THEY understand their purpose and THEY do not try to hide behind lies! Oh how noble are we, how noble are we. This world would be better without love or life.”
“I found my reason. I knew what life was for. On top of her nightstand, beside her bed, lay that red box. Still open, a snack she enjoyed every now and then. A cheap box of rubbish wheat and sugar- how she would sit there, her mouth full, her lips spread wide in a smile as she munched away on that abomination to sustenance! Still I grew curious and remembered our last kiss. How sweet it was, figuratively and subjectively. A single red kernel lay next to that box undisturbed. No others lay anywhere else atop the stand or the floor as if it was placed there for me… A final message from her. I picked up that rough, red orb and rolled it betwixt my fingers. I brought it to my nose, it twitched at the aroma, the memory of that smell so familiar on her breath. I brought it to my mouth and placed it upon my tongue. It felt sweet upon my tongue, it slowly melted, shrank away to but a small smidgeon of delight.
A simple sensation, an indefinable taste. I rubbed it against the roof of my mouth as it disappeared to nothingness. A tear began in my eye as I closed it and remembered her. I knew her message. There were sweeter things in life still, things to be enjoyed decadently by myself. Love isn’t defined in a person, it is defined in me. I shall love whatsoever I choose to. When I opened my eyes again I find myself in a much different place. An empty tomb for empty memories, with no life or soul in it but my own.”
“I lived for myself that day on. I filled my body with narcotics and spirits, begging for forgetfulness. My memories grew fewer, day by day, until there was nothing left but the moment. I filled my days with vices, and enjoyed nothing more than my self-pleasure at the expense of others, with no vice more fulfilling than drinking in the essence of a dying and resurrected soul. A leech I was, a hierophant of life’s true knowledge, a sycophant of the wiles and wills of others. Many lives did I destroy and rebuild in my vision. So simple, it was, to take people by their false hearts and false minds and open them to the true meaning of life, devoid of happiness, devoid of joy. Those are false ideals shared with others. There was only one ideal. The self.”
“Many years went by like this. I removed pain from others as I did myself, by exposing the lies and truths of this life. But where has it brought me? Nowhere. There is no feeling truer than sorrow. It is there when you are born, and there when you die. My prime had long past, and my days on this Earth numbered. I felt a longing once more for that innocent joy I felt long ago. That one vice that was so hard to obtain. But woe to me- I had tried to feel her memories once again, but they were nowhere in my mind or body. The memory in my bones had long ago ebbed away. I tried to seek once again those final, parting memories.
That faint sweetness upon her lips, that last memento she left for me, how I longed for that taste and aroma. But whenever I sought it out, whenever I had it in my grasp was I told ‘Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!’. I had fretted away my youth. Not even once more would I be able to feel the memories of my young life. Always that taunting call…
Always… ‘Trix… are… for kids!’”.
“So was I mockingly branded the Trix Rabbit. One who may never again feel the joys of my youth. One who is to die with no past memories of bliss, however false they may be, no comfort in my soul. A life wasted. I will always be remembered as the one denied remembrance. My end shall simply be the end and nothing more. The end.”
The lights burnt out, and the main ones powered on. I blink hard, and reopen my eyes slowly to allow them to readjust. The faces look upon me in shame. The doors open, revealing a party bus to Vegas.
Everyone departs, and I grab a handle bar to hoist myself up. I take out a cigarette, light it, and take a good, long drag. The doors begin to close as I approach them, but a hand from outside darts between them, and they slide open. “Come on, man, I’ll show you a good time.”
A smiling face that appeared almost sincere greets me. The sky is thankfully dark, hiding the features of a torn and dilapidated city and a broken down bus. I toss my cigarette to the floor, step it out, and board this bus to waste the rest of this life.
Evaluation
I felt that the stories in the Canterbury Tales portrayed the true character of the storyteller. They may reveal contradictions of their title or their ideals in their tales. They do partially feel that their ideals may not be quite right however. They may slip at times and show their true thoughts on it, but quickly bring back their authoritive tone to show their confidence in their beliefs. The Wife of Bath’s was quite a bit like this in her prologue. She defended her way of life, but at the same time showed the rather lewd side of it, which was far from noble. She had selfish endeavors in mind in her five marriages, and not very much for her idea of “procreation” being God’s message rather than celibacy.
My character of the Trix Rabbit doesn’t know what is true happiness to him. He is nostalgic, and at the same time resentful of his past. He brought that pain to others and that brought him some form of happiness, but it was more of a comfort. He hides it fairly unwell that he misses his old life that he may never have again. He wasted his life on fruitless endeavors of self-pleasure, and felt remorseful near the end of his life instead of joyful over what he believed was a full life. He wants to return to that nostalgia but realizes he’s forgotten it, lost that part of his innocent mind. He knows he butchered the message of the cereal he had first had tasted. That’s why he grows angry when he tells about it, and mocks the image of his deceased lover. It was a simple reminder for him, that life could still be sweet if he chose it. But he shunned her memory, too pained by his loss to live like he did before. He was too afraid to live that way again or he may feel that pain once again. He wasted his life by living selfishly and was unable to return to that pure life. The single kernel of cereal was a symbol of the essence of his happiness. He tasted it one last time, and never again. Instead of moving on, he quit on life. The whole quote “Trix are for kids” just seems to be a message about life.
Don’t waste it, because you can never go back. Life is a linear line, beginning to end. If you just stop for whatever reason, your life ends there. You die in mind and spirit wherever you want to, but the body lives on. Put what life you have in you to good use, because even if you stop, life goes on.
n/a
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