Once upon a time, Bunny found himself in a mall.
Not a good mall. Not a mall with a pretzel stand and people and that one store that always smells like too many candles. No. This mall was empty. The fountains were dry. The lights flickered. Every single store was locked and dark.
“Well,” said Bunny, looking around. “This is stupid.”
He was wearing sparkly jelly shoes. A tutu. A shirt that said “Hi! No.” His bow was green and floppy and refused to stay upright.
Somewhere, a speaker crackled to life. Tiffany. I think we’re alone now…
Bunny’s ear twitched. “Oh no,” he said.
His foot tapped. “No no no.”
His hips moved. “FINE.”
And then Bunny was dancing. Full 80s. Full commitment. Past the locked stores — “VALIDATION,” “BEING SEEN,” “PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY SHOW UP” — all closed, all dark, all out of business.
He didn’t care. He grabbed a mannequin. Dipped it. Whitney came on. I wanna dance with somebody…Bunny gave the mannequin too much eye contact.
Security cameras watched from every corner. Bunny waved. Kept dancing.
A voice crackled over the speakers. Not music this time. A tone. Flat. Automated.“You are not being watched.”
Bunny snorted. “Sure, Jan.” He moonwalked past the food court. All the chairs were stacked. The pretzel place was dark. Something called ALGORITHM SMOOTHIES had a “CLOSED FOREVER” sign in the window.
“Good,” Bunny muttered. “Your smoothies tasted like lies anyway.” The music changed again. Cyndi Lauper now. Girls just wanna have fun…
Bunny climbed onto the dry fountain. Struck a pose. “You can turn off the lights,” he announced to no one. To everyone. “But you can’t make me boring.”
Bunny spun on the fountain’s edge. The security cameras tracked him. The lights flickered. The empty stores stared with their dark windows.
He didn’t care.
He vogued past VALIDATION (closed). He shimmied past BEING SEEN (permanently shuttered). He blew a kiss to ORGANIC REACH (bankruptcy sale, everything must go).
The music swelled. Bunny’s jelly shoes sparkled under the dying fluorescents. A final announcement crackled overhead: “Thank you for visiting. Your experience matters to us.”
Bunny laughed. Loud. Alone. Echoing off the walls of the dead mall. “No it doesn’t,” he said. “But that’s okay. I didn’t come here for you.” He adjusted his floppy green bow. Straightened his “Hi! No.” shirt. Gave the mannequin one last respectful nod.
Then he walked toward the exit — past the OUT OF ORDER escalators, past the empty kiosks, past the flickering directory that no longer listed anything at all. The doors opened to nothing. To everything. To whatever came next.
Bunny stepped through.
We weren't here for them anyway.
Sincerely,
Bunny
Petty Officer-in-Chief of Velinwood Court