Since the introduction was about animals, I thought I’d continue with it and write a trilogy.

I have this love-and-hate relationship with animals. I love ‘em, but they scare the shit out of me. Cats, dogs, chickens or even bears, they’re great. They look harmless, act cuddly, and they’re overall lovable. However, that’s the exterior they show in order to entrap and put you through a world of pain. They’re a vicious, two-faced bunch that you can’t help but love and that’s what’s dangerous about them.

Don’t get me wrong, they’re great a distance. It’s like tattoos, they’re great on other people but it’s not like you’ll get one yourself. Unless you start by raising them from their infancy, removing their fangs and claws before they even grow them, then anything they do is an act meant to trick you into falling for them. Having that voice in the back of your mind go, “Don’t get too close” when coming into contact with a bear is like that, humanity’s survival instinct kicking in and telling you to nope the hell out of there.

So due to my fear of ‘normal’ pets, my taste tends to lean toward the harmless. From rabbits to fish, the kind where you know that the worst they can do is take a piss on you. Especially once I’ve tasted what having a pet felt like before it ran away, oh how great it was to have a friend at home.

I decisively decided to get another rabbit, and came to the conclusion that since my mother was incompetent with cleaning their cages, I’ll be the one to do it. I mean who cleans your pet’s cage while the front door is open, leading to their escape? The degree of incompetence made no sense whatsoever.

The rabbit I got was named ‘Blacky’ (My first language is not English, yet at the time I still named him ‘Blacky’ in English because I thought it was a cool name) because he had black spots on his fur. As some of you might be wondering, no, I was not pointing out his flaws or discriminating against him. I called him that out of love, not hate, and shame on you if you thought otherwise.

Blacky and I immediately hit it off and became the best of friends. We’d play together, eat together and sleep together. I remember how once, our garden was suffering from a bee invasion. And Blacky was in the middle of the bee swarm, shivering and trembling in fear as he was rooting in place, doing his best to eat a leaf of lettuce as to take his mind away from the current despairing state of events.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I tried to brave my way through the bees in an effort to rescue Blacky, but their suicide unit were simply too powerful as they kamikazed through my defenses and took me out. At the nick of time, as if God didn’t want to abandon a man with a noble cause--or more accurately due to my screams of misery--my sister came out as the sun shone behind her blinding me.

Her calm voice asking me what’s wrong, and I pointed at the rabbit. She nodded in acknowledgment and walked through the swarm. The bees, probably sensing the disparity in power between them, cowered and refused to engage. My sister calmly took Blacky into her arms, as a mother would carry her child, shielding him from both rain and wind, and brought him back to safety.

Handing him to me, I felt the injuries I sustained while trying to save him ease. With his fur brushing between my fingers, I lifted blacky to eye-level and said, “Thank god you’re safe”. Or at least that’s what I planned, if not as soon as I opened my mouth, Blacky who finally felt a sense of security eased and let out all of the fluids he’s been holding inside of him due to fear. (For transparency’s sake, I don’t actually remember what I was about to say, I just remember him peeing into my mouth.)

But, well, I got him while prepared for such an occasion to happen eventually. Anyways, after that, because we went through life and death together we ended up growing as close as blood siblings. And because of that, what happened a couple of days later hurt even more.

It was a sunny afternoon when I returned back home from school, and as per usual, I went to greet Blacky in his cage. However, this same cage disappointed me for the second time. Blacky was nowhere to be found. Of course, I didn’t think much of it.

“He must be playing in my mum’s garden”

I probably thought at the time. Despite the traumatic experience he went through, he still loved that place. And of course, after that day my dad repelled the invasion so it felt safe having him adventure through it.

So I went inside, changed my clothes, and headed to the garden. To my surprise, Blacky was not there at all. I then decided to go to the second most probable place, then the third, then the fourth, until I gave up and called for reinforcements. I went to ask my mother where Blacky was, and the answer still haunts me to this day. I felt more betrayed here than the with the time James tricked me into fighting his rooster.

“After going to work, I heard this weird noises coming from under the car. When I went to investigate, it looked like the rabbit (She refused to acknowledge his name. It wasn’t cool at all. But I still love you mum!) had latched on. Seeing that, my heart ached and I handed him to a co-worker to take care of him. He loved the rabbit, so I decided to not take it back”

From that day onwards, I’ve had trust issues.