Mr. Snuggles had to die. 

To the outsider, Mr. Snuggles might look like an innocent cuddly stuffed toy of almost unbearable cuteness, but he had a dark secret.  Now that he appears to have finally stopped twitching I shall unleash the aforementioned dark secret upon the world. 

…well, if not the world, then at least the first 14 cells of ward B19.

As harsh as the punishment might seem, Mr. Snuggles had it comin’.  Hell yeah.  Whoah.

Crushy neck.

Swingy wingy.

Deathy weathy

Ha ha.

Ha.

I should explain.

I was eating my daily allowance of marzipan when there was a knock against the Kevlar-reinforced security glass window of my cell.  It was Mr. Snuggles.  He was grinning like a maniacal fool.  I saw blood on his delicately woven paws.

It looked like my blood. 

Really.

It was red.  It was a bit gloopy.  Surely that’s no coincidence?

So how did he get my blood on him?

I did a quick search for cuts or critical wounds.

None.

That had to be my blood though.

He must have wounded me at some point and then delicately tended me back to full health with my blood kept fresh upon his paws with an ice pack.

Nothing else for it.  I moved like a badger on steroids and he was noosed within 34 minutes of polite debate.

Death to bunny blood spillers!

ra.

I was scared.  I was unsure.  Matron had always been so supportive; so understanding… but here I was thinking that she had somehow fooled me into a life of servitude – the recipient of a feeder… 

So I ran.

Not very far.

It took 83 minutes to nibble through the door of my cell.   But once that was done I was kind of on a roll.

Until I encountered the next door 3 feet away.  That only took 37 minutes to lick through though.

And then I was free…

The wind was in my hair, there was only a mild smell of sewage, my lungs were full with the air of freedom…

I was heady.

I won’t listen to her gorgeous stories anymore.

She lies.

She deceives.

She’s….

That was the moment, running chaotically as I was, that I realised I was no longer paying attention to basic life skills.  Things like don’t try to eat live crocodiles, don’t lick electricity and don’t fall off high bridges.  I did well on the former two life skills, but failed miserably at the bridge thingy one.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone out by myself.  Matron warned me of such perils.  How foolish of me to not heed her advice.

Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me. 

Matron knows best.

Once I get myself out of this predicament I’ll never leave my Matron.

Never.