A rabbit wipes its ear with a fuzzy gray paw. It looks up and sniffs the air with a fuzzy pink nose. The whiskers on its face stand out in fuzzy little patches, twitching as if they have minds of their own.
Behind it, a bit of gravel and glass litter the ground before giving way to grass and flowers and bushes and trees.
Before it, a road. Black, smelling of tar, shimmering with the heat of the Summer sun. A breeze from beyond the road, drifting across to the rabbit, smells of hope, and better things. Perhaps more clovers lie on the other side, or more does with which the rabbit could mate. An endless rush of possibilities would have filled the rabbit's mind if indeed rabbits could think rationally.
Instead, the rabbit felt a low tugging of instinct, and it creeps out onto the road. It pauses on the white line, sniffing at a dead and crusty toad.
Despite the rabbit's tough pads on the bottom of its feet, the pavement begins to burn.
The rabbit throws up its head and quickly looks to the left and right, on the watch for any signs of danger, but none are to be found. A bit hesitantly, the rabbit hops to the dotted yellow line that splits the road in half, then its confidence boosts as it can see how close it is to the other side of the road. It begins running across the road, and the grasses dance gleefully, happy to see the rabbit coming to join them.
Animals are fast, but of course, vehicles are faster.
A dark green Suburban flies over the hill and the driver sees the rabbit and elbows the passenger. Watch this, the driver says. The Suburban veers towards the rabbit, who makes a mad dash to the grass, but the Suburban reaches the rabbit before the rabbit reaches the grass.
The tire hits the rabbit in the skull, then rolls over its body in a flash, mangling it and leaving it tousled and bleeding on the side of the road.
The Suburban vanishes around the corner, the passenger screaming with disgrace, and the rabbit dies alone, like so many stubbed cigarettes.