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Rated: 18+ · Prose · Dark · #2206575
A parable in overpopulation
Hasenpfeffer


Draw two cartoon rabbits and name them freedom and utopia. Place the male in pale blue plastic pants, and a military hat. Place the Doe in heels and a yellow polka dot dress, circa 1955. Honeymoon them in Napa, beautiful fields of black dirt and nutrients. Let them covet, planning for a better generation to come. Show them a material purpose, but trust they won't seek more.

Mount their depression in a plastic picture frame, black as a smoker's lung, jailing the parchment of a graduate degree in self-determination. Hang it on the wall of the fall-out shelter near the burnt-out fire alarm, high enough so the children can't reach, not so high as to promote idolatry or, Gardener forbid, thought. Propagate the eternal sin, that swaddles like love. Shape the ecosystem from the ashes of imagination and name it faith.

"Copulate only for the gardener's pleasure," demand the red light nuns; "lash at your back should you feel pleasure in the pure. Penetrate, but let the assault be brief. Fur on fur, guilt inside guilt; for in violence we conceive, in his image, we are created".

Drop prodigies where you stand, littering the soil with your bloodline. Consign the placenta to wither, burning in the afternoon sun; though removed, it pulsates with original sin, the elixir of life, fortified with the gardener's sacrificial blood and his undying affection for all rabbit-kind.

Bathe the stillborns in dung, folding them back into furrows. Spread the dirt like lies and bury the truth. If rebels take flight, jail them like dandelion spores, ensnared by the webs, confined to the darkened corners of the great shed.

You question? Eight billion for now, eight billion to come, of course there's a plan? Oh, ye of little faith! Seek not for guidance. Trust the one who held your very seed, who knows your path through meadow and hedgerow. Multiply far and wide, thinking not of the cost or consequence. Fill Eden, leaving the Gardener to his regal chores. Blind be your faith. For it is written, let the wine breath, and it will turn to purple.


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