Memoirs of a Lipstick Rabbit

I shiver silently, painful body spread across the blood stained floor of my jail made from cold steel. I can hear others crying out in pain, some who are only babies. They lay alone and scared, sores made by one of you rippling over their body. My fur, once pure-white-as-snow is now stained and tainted by your wannabe lipsticks and poisonous perfumes. Are you pretty now, will you ever have enough of your favourite blood red pout?

As the bulky doors open and let in a blast of light the others around me cry for help. I’ve been here long enough to know there’s no use in it, empty hearts ignore the pleas of the wounded. We all wait; crouched into the corners of our prisons to see who the next victim will be. What colour will your spring line be this year, coral or peach?

Hard steps echo around the room. They’re loud and hurt my burning ears. The smell of rubber gloves and sterile coats reach me before they do. Vacant eyes peer in at me: an experiment or a number. I don’t think or feel to them, I just make money. The cocking of the door lock sounds and I close my eyes. There’s a thunderous shriek as the jail door swings open. I feel Hades’ hand slowly approach me, and then it snatches my ears and pulls me violently from my jail. For a moment I’m in the air, swinging from my cage forcefully onto another cold metal slab. The impact on my body should hurt, but I can’t feel anymore. My nerves have suffered enough. They belt me down to the slab with leather straps. I look about me as they yank my ears up again, pulling the skin on my face tight. The vacant eyes stare into mine once more, surveying my soul. There is something shouted across the room and I watch as they bring a needle filled with green liquid across to me. They find a space which hasn’t yet been made raw and pus filled by their experiments, my last patch of white fur. They ready the section, and then I watch them plunge the needle into my flesh and feel the liquid bubble under my skin then spread through my body. The mint green juice travels rapidly through my muscles, making them contract painfully. My head feels like it might explode as my eyes grow heavy.  My body is full of scurrying fluid bugs which attack my every sense. As I lay in the throws of death, I hear the others of my kind crying out around me. They watch their future, because if they survive the tests they only have death to look forward to anyways.

My body shakes and I feel myself fitting, but because I’m held in place tightly by the binds, I just vibrate against the metal slab. The noise sounds odd to me as everything grows dark. I can no longer feel much of my sore ridden body; it has beaten me to death. The skeletal, black cloaked, scythe holding bastard: come for me at last.