Plot Bunny #2 – Tall, Dark, and Hungry

Nope, don't own the rights.  And no, Victor isn't a rabbit...although that would put an interesting spin on things, eh?
Nope, don’t own the rights.
And no, Victor isn’t a rabbit…although that would put an interesting spin on things, eh?


He scanned for his last, clear memory. Hot chick, rave…too much to drink and that little blue pill Ronnie insisted wouldn’t do much more than enhance the high from the alcohol.  Yeah. Right. So much for “enhanced”.  The rest of the night was as dark as the space he found himself in. He knew his eyes were open, he could feel the brush of his top eye lashes barely touching his bottom lashes periodically, but beyond that sensation, the absence of light was complete. As was the silence.  It was at that moment that Victor Anthony Micheals figured he was dead. The thought wasn’t as unpleasant as it could have been, he supposed. He didn’t feel any kind of panic or upset. But then again, he was dead, so he wasn’t surprised that the realization didn’t bring about any emotional outburst. Not to mention, dead people don’t have hearts that can race, no active organs producing adrenaline. Nothing to activate the ‘fight or flight’ response to his sudden discovery of his deceased state. He vowed that no sooner than he found out how this being dead deal worked, he was going to find a way to haunt the hell out of Ronnie.

A sound.  Faint, but clearly the sound of shovels digging into dirt. He recognized it because he’d spent the last three summers off from school working at the graveyard. A big, old cemetery that sat a block behind the neighborhood he’d grown up in. He was on the day crew, responsible for mowing mostly, occasionally he’d be called upon to finesse the edges of a grave after the back hoe had done it’s worst.  He liked being able to tidy up the edges and get that three by eight by six-foot rectangle looking sharp for its new occupant. He felt it was the least he could do to show his respect to the family of the deceased.  Burying a loved one was hard enough. Why compound the sense of injustice with a ragged looking hole in the ground?

“Ah.  Here we go. I’ve got him.  Hang in there Vic, just a few more feet of dirt and we’ll have you out.”

Out? Why on Earth would someone be digging him up? 


If you’re a NaNo-vian (one who NaNoWriMos) then you understand the Plot Bunny situation.  As it stands, this year seems to be my year for a most fertile warren of the little darlings.  I’ve had these two in the last three days – note, one female and one male. I just know they’re about to multiply.

No rights here either.
No rights here either.

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