Shine

He walked out of the store; his legs alive, as were his steps. The Christmas carols that had been playing inside the store, also greeted him outside; blaring from the white speakers embedded into the green overhang. Dogs barking jingle bells.
“Oh, my, what will you do with all of those?” asked the old lady in the purple coat with brass buttons. She paused; arm reaching for the pet store’s door. She smiled at him, her teeth just starting to gray. Unnatural pink lipstick. She was happy.
He smiled back at her, pausing. His arms full of cage, holding four white rabbits.
“I am working my way up to lambs,” he replied to her and smiled some more.
Her body stopped; stiffened and her face blanched, a small, rosy circle on each cheek.
He did not see the puddle as he continued walking to his car, but his socks felt the water fast, seeping through his sneakers.

He stood at the kitchen table. Silver edge. Coloured top.
The rabbits did not look nervous anymore, sitting in the large silver cage on the floor. The electric carving knife had been running for 2 hours. Six minutes.
It had not bothered him while he had napped on the couch in the next room.
He put on the leather gloves, sitting beside the running knife. Good, old General Electric.
“Hello, bunny,” he said, stooping down and reaching in the cage and knocking over the small green plastic bowl of valerian root tea he had placed in with the rabbits. He used it for anxiety; sometimes drank three mugs in a sitting. He had made it weak for the rabbits, only a minute steeped. They moved fast, away from him. Then he was suddenly holding one. Warm against neck, as he pulled himself up.
taptaptaptaptaptaptap. Heartbeat.
“You are so soft. Nice bunny; soft bunny,” he murmured, turning towards the table. "I would not want to drink blue stuff, either. It is much better green, yes, it is, pretty bunny. Oh, lookie here, little bunny, see what I have made for you?"
He had made the stocks a few weeks before, anchored to plywood. 1/8th of an inch thick. The stocks were fashioned from metal and rubber, unlike the old, wooden ones he had seen on the internet.
He placed the head of the rabbit into the hole and tightened the bands. He thought about choking it to death for a minute. But, he did not. He wondered if this one had drank some of the tea. Only its nose seemed to want to put up a fight.
Reaching for the running knife with one hand, he felt along the lower leg for the proper joint on the rabbit’s lower leg. Arm swung over like a baseball pitcher, but slower. Swish. The grabbing of the blade in the rabbit’s leg; close to his finger. The white handle vibrating, louder.
Bucking at flexible bone.
“Dammit,” he swore, pushing hard to the leg, holding and bearing down with the blade. Labour.
And then through.
Paul put the knife down; held the rabbit's foot. Felt himself pant; the excitement, as he reached for the saltshaker. He kept an eye on the rabbit; head pushed and trapped, as it pulled in the remaining part of leg; close to belly. Paul dropped the foot in the first white box. Not a clean cut like he had hoped for.
Then he moved himself around the table, picking up the knife. He grabbed the rabbit's other leg. And movement. It kicked back. Sudden. Paul slammed his elbow hard down into the rabbits back and cut its other leg off fast, sawed. Snapped. The smell of rabbit shit, seeping into his shirt. He cursed rabbits and their control.
Then loud in his ears, the rabbit grinding its teeth.
And Paul decided to leave it trapped, to die; instead of slitting its throat.
It was how he wanted it.
He looked over the table, down at the cage and the other three rabbits. Their white fur; red eyes. Starting slowly; skittishness. He wondered if they could smell the blood. Or if it was the fear.
He put the foot in a different white box; taking them both into the other room.
At the coffee table, he wrote carefully inside of greeting cards; green and adorned with silver bells.
Best of luck in the New Year.