On a pretty normal afternoon in East Canada, Laryl sits on a bench and stares at the yellowish-red sky. He appreciates the chickens as they fly past, bawking as they do. He allows his mind to wander, thinking of whatever comes to mind. Tax day was last week, he thinks, maybe I should get to filing those? Oh well.
Coming to the conclusion that he has absolutely nothing better to do, he begins to slump on the bench.
Across the lush-enough brownish-green field is a fairly busy street. One of those streets that distracts you from what little nature there is left in 2193.
"Hmm..." he thinks aloud, "I should get a car."
A car. To an enlightened rabbit like Laryl, a car means freedom.
He begins thinking of how he'd buy a car. Well, surely, he'd need a job. But where would he work? Oh, God, here he is, thinking again. Maybe he could steal one. Or... maybe he could get a job at a big company doing big things in a big position. Nevermind the complete lack of work experience, or qualifications, or work ethic...
A pigeon lands beside him on the bench, flapping its wings and splashing water everywhere. This pigeon speaks. Pigeons aren't meant to speak, Laryl thinks.
"You see that red car over there?" the bird asks. Laryl looks at it in horror, nodding. "Go steal it."
Laryl thinks about it. He raises a finger to say 'no' to the bird, but ultimately can't. He's going to steal a car. He stands up and begins pacing. He quickly hops over the bench, hitting the ground and falling into a roll. The pigeon follows him closely behind. Practically bouncing, he jogs across the field.
He approaches the car, parked on a sidewalk across from a decently dingy alleyway. He opens the door and climbs in, sliding over to the driver's seat.
He turns the keys, just in time for a rather muscular alligator to plant his hand directly on the roof of the car.
Laryl, panicking, turns to face the car's owner. He rolls down the window. "H- hi, sir, how are you?"
"What are you doing in my car?" the owner asks, worryingly stern.
"I was inspecting your brakes. Too many people... p- people with bad brakes on the road, yes, horrible brakes!" he lies.
"And what does starting it have to do with that?"
"I have t- to road test it." Laryl says, very obviously lying. The pigeon flies towards the rabbit and the alligator.
The alligator, at this point, opens the car door and pulls the rabbit out of the car. He slams Laryl against the passenger's side door.
"You were gonna steal all my product, hm?" the intimidating man growls.
Laryl sputters incoherently.
"So, who sent you?" the alligator asks, a terrifyingly deep ring to his voice.
"Th- the pigeon- the pigeon sent m- me!" Laryl confesses, on the verge of bursting into tears.
"The Pigeon?" he inquires, before taking the rabbit's glasses. He snaps them clean in half.
"Who's 'The Pigeon'?" the alligator asks.
He tries desparately to catch his breath. "The - he's up the- there, the bird!" Laryl pants. The alligator raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "You think you're funny, do you, Squishy?" he says, before planting a foot directly into the rabbit's stomach. Laryl keels over onto the ground, curled up into a ball.
"So you wanted my car."
"We did! We w- wanted the car?" Laryl says.
"So who sent you to steal the fucking car, Squishy!?" the alligator shouts, drawing a pistol from inside his brown leather jacket. The pigeon flies off.
Laryl curls up into a ball. "I TOLD Y- I TOLD YOU! IT WAS THE PIGEON!" he screams, terrified.
"ARE YOU OFF YOUR MEDS?" the alligator asks, his hand trembling with anger, practicing zero trigger discipline.
"YES! YES I AM!" Laryl announces, proud of himself. "What kinda meds?" the alligator asks. "Coke? Heroin?"
"Anti-hallucinogens... you kn- know, like... like Gloraziapam.."
"Wait, what?" the alligator asks, shoving the pistol back into his jacket pocket. "You're a nutcase?"
"I- I guess so..." Laryl says, looking at a duck across the street. Ducks aren't meant to be on sidewalks. What's he doing? Carrying a briefcase. Ducks can't carry briefcases. They don't wear fancy hats and ties either.
Laryl shouts. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE!?"
"What?" the alligator asks, offended.
"That duck! That duck over there!" Laryl shouts, pointing at the duck. Laryl attempts to stand up but is shoved back onto the pavement. "The duck that... he's got a job and he's... he's gonna..."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" the alligator asks, nervously.
Laryl frantically points at the duck, who turns to face him. The duck drops the briefcase onto the pavement, and runs off.
"Who the fuck are you pointing at!?" the alligator shouts, angrily. "There's not a single goddamn duck on this entire half of the city!"
Laryl feels a deep, strange sense of sadness thinking about the lack of ducks. "There's no duck."
The alligator takes a few moments to calm down. He pats his own face a few times, concerned. "Squishy," he says. "Get back on your meds." He climbs into his car, slamming the door just as Laryl climbs back onto his feet. He brushes off what little dust he acquired from rolling about on the ground as the red car speeds away. He turns to his right and sees the pigeon waddling towards him.
"That was entertaining." the bird says.
"You're a bird." Laryl observes.
"You're a lunatic." the bird says, before fading away, cackling.
Laryl stands there, blocking the perfectly good parking spot. He laughs to himself and steps out of traffic.