Astra Papachristodoulou

Bunnies Behind Bars Astra Papachristodoulou

This is a tale of distress. This is a tale of sorrow. A tale about four cottontails-tails that belonged to three little bunnies (and one not so little), and their names were: Flopsy, Flimsy, Forrest and Benjamin.




They lived in a long stretch of a bankside by the River Wey, underneath the root of an old English oak tree in Bunshire. Although much of the day was spent inside their warm burrow, resting and cuddling, they were all very active. They hopped on sun-kissed pools of mud at the safest times of the day and often, grazed weeds near a throne made of pebbles just a short distance away from the river.




"Now, my dears," said Mr Benjamin Bye one morning, "you may play to your heart's content, but make sure to stay away from red-eyed humans." The bunnies giggled while splashing and pressing their toes upon the cushions of the stream under the comfort of the blue sky.




Mr Benjamin Bunny, a gentle dad, was very protective of his kittens and insisted with firm but soft voice, "Now run along, and don't get into mischief. We wouldn't want to end up in a laboratory now, would we?"