Mike slept uneasily.
He turned under his old metallica sheets - the ones he got at the garage sale, for real cheep, he remembered; he never understood why the other guys never wanted to go rummaging with him.
He sighed. Thinking about the origins of his sheets wouldn’t get him to sleep any sooner. He pulled them up to his chin and closed his eyes once more. Maybe this time he would go to. . . and Mike dropped into blissful unconsciousness.
He was floating down a wide river on a raft of his own making, a piece of timothy in his mouth and a straw hat on his head.
Ah, the Huck Finn dream, he thought. He smiled lazily and adjusted the grass in his mouth. “This is the life,” he sighed to himself.
“Isn’t it, though?”
Mike sat bolt upright, and looked around for the source of the voice. the only living thing he saw, besides a few butterflies, was a small brown rabbit, feeding near the river. It looked up at him, and said clearly, “Yes, this is the life you would want, isn’t it, Michaelangelo?”
Mike just gaped at the rabbit. This was not supposed in this dream. Let’s see, he thought to himself. All that’s supposed to happen in this dream is . . . no, this was definitely not supposed to be here. Mike felt a growing suspicion, that if this rabbit was who he thought it was, that not only was this the wrong dream, this was the wrong book!
“El-ahrairah?” he asked.
In answer, the rabbit made a spectacular jump from the back to land by Mike’s feet.
“What do you think?” the rabbit said.
“Um. . . heh. This is. . . weird. What are you doing in this dream?”
“I come with an offer, Michaelangelo. You want this,” he indicated the dreamscape with a paw. “Don’t you?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, it’d be great, but. . .”
The rabbit looked up from washing its paw. “But what, Michaelangelo?”
“But nothing,” Mike stood up and looked upstream. A sad look was on his face. “It’s something I can’t have. To have this kind of . . . freedom. . . is impossible for us. The world can’t know we exist.”
The rabbit finished its paw, and looked sideways at Mike. “And what if I told you it was possible? That you could have this kind of freedom? What would you give?”
Mike quickly turned to face the rabbit. “What do you mean, what would I give?”
“Exactly what I said, Michaelangelo. What would you be willing to sacrifice for this freedom?”
“Why, are you offering?” Mike asked sarcastically, in his best Raph tones.
“Yes.”
Mike blinked. He hadn’t expected the rabbit to. . .
“Not what you expected, Michaelangelo?” the rabbit chuckled. “Yes, indeed, I am offering this freedom to you. . . for a price,” he paused. “You just have to decide if you’re willing to pay that price.”
Mike sat down again, and looked at the rabbit intently.
“Well, before I decide if I want to pay it, I have to know what the price is.”
“Do you really, Michaelangelo? Is there any price you wouldn’t pay to have this?”
“What is the price?” Michaelangelo said coldly. He didn’t like all this bantering.
“Directly to the point then, eh?” the rabbit hopped closer to Mike. “Good, good. The price is. . . your brothers.”
“My brothers?” Mike exclaimed, horrified.
“Oh, no, no, no, I don’t mean kill them, Michaelangelo; just make a little deal to insure your safety. all you have to do is make one little phone call. . . and they will take your brothers someplace safe while you are free. . . to go.”
Mike slowly shook his head in horror. “I can’t. . . I . . . you’re not El-ahrairah! You’re the freakin Black Rabbit of Inle!”
A harsh, guttural laugh emanated from the rabbit. As it laughed, it started to go larger and darker, until it was at it was at least the size of Michaelangelo, with fur darker than blank velvet, and eyes as blood red as holly berries in snow.
“And now you truly know who I am, Michaelangelo. But the offer still stands. Looks around you. Isn’t this what you want?”
Mike looked around at the scenery, and noticed that all movement around them had stopped, as if every living creature around was holding its breath, waiting for an answer.
Mike looked back at the Black Rabbit, and the sat in a frozen tableau. It could be seen in Mike’s eyes; he would make the call, he would gain freedom, he would serve the Black Rabbit.
Then suddenly, Mike laughed, breaking the illusion. He stood up, shaking his head and chuckling, and looked out over the water.
“One time Raph tried to bribe me with a pizza. He wanted me to do his chores,” Mike turned and faced the Black Rabbit. “That was just washing windows! I said no to that, why would I possibly be tempted to betray my bros? No, Black Rabbit, the answer is no.”
And with that, the rabbit seemed to diminish in Mike’s eyes; it was no longer a scary, threatening figure; it was just a harmless bunny rabbit. Mike turned to the edge of the raft, arched his back, threw up his arms, and dove in to the clear water.
“Where are you going, Michaelangelo?” the Black Rabbit called after him.
“I’m gonna go get a pizza!” Mike yelled.
Asleep under his Metallica sheets, Michaelangelo smiled.
It sat, perplexed.
It had lost! It looked back over its strategy, trying to determine what the problem could have been. It could not find any faults; perhaps it was his choice of a fictional character that caused the problem. It chuckled. Of course, that was it. A fictional character couldn’t hold that much influence of a real person. It would have to remember that for the next one.
Thinking of the next one, it thought, it is about time. Now who shall I be? It scanned through several possibilities, finally settling on one. Yes, it thought, this one will be perfect to seduce. . . what was the name of that next freak? Oh yes, Leonardo.