Trip. Crash. ‘Oof oof oof oof oof.’ Thud thud thump. ‘Bleagh.’
Lucy’s internal organs were suddenly in all the wrong places. Her brain was somewhere else altogether. Her head hurt. Her back hurt. Her legs hurt.
Late afternoon, having just crawled from bed, she’d stepped out of her front door and tripped over a basket some stupid git had left lying around. Tumbling down the front steps, she’d hit the pavement, landing flat on her back. She stayed there, stunned, staring at a green sky.
A passing hippy stepped over her and continued on his way. She watched him go, hurling mental knives at his back.
Then she plotted her revenge on whoever had left the basket.
The basket jostled beside her.
It repeated the act.
Rolling onto her side, unhfing with discomfort, she reached over, grabbed the basket and dragged it to her. Tipping it sideways, she opened it, to discover two dazed rabbits.
A note nestled between them, half nibbled. She yanked it from the hamper, rolled over onto her stomach and read.
It said, in neatly typed script that no way could rabbits have done, PLEASE LOOK AFTER US NICELY.
Was this Osmo’s doing?
What a great bloke.