Farmer Blake grew carrots. In spring he would till the soil with a hand held hoe. Then he would plant carrot seeds in the freshly dug soil.
It was hot work. The farm would start to get a, bit of bite, to the heat, around late Spring. He would sweat and wipe his brow.
He grew the sweetest carrots around, and they would melt in the mouth. The people at the local grocery store, who purchased his carrots, would rave about them, and say, " they are the best carrots around".
Farmer Blake wore denim overalls, and would occasionally take a carrot, from the ground, and absolutely delight in the produce, made from his own hands (and a little help from the sunlight).
The carrots were almost neon orange, and so juicey, that when you ate them, orange juice would poor down your chin.
One day he spotted rabbits though.
Rabbits would pluck a carrot from the ground, smile for a moment, and then return to the hole in the ground, and eat the ever so sweet carrot, there, underground.
The rabbits were regular bunnies. They had grey fur, and white fur, on their inner ear. They hopped in zig zags around Farmer Blakes carrot patch.
"these damn pilfering rabbits" Farmer Blake would say, "I should take a rifle to them right now!".
He went to the farm house and got his rifle.
Rabbits are quick. A rabbit would dart around the carrot patch, as quick as lightning, from one hole to another. They'd do summersaults and smile.
They'd bound about from one hole to another, with mischeivious glimmers in their eyes, tear u - turns up, next to Farmer Blake; and swing their big hind feet; and kick big clods of dirt on Farmer Blakes pants. Some even got in his mouth.
Farmer Blake set up his rocking chair and spent the day watching the rabbits, through his rifles sight. He'd get a rabbit in his crosshairs but not long enough to pull the trigger.
"I will kill all you vermint rabbits", said Farmer Blake. "I'll make you regret the day you ever took my carrots, vermint!".
He took in his sight, a younger looking rabbit, and the younger rabbit was a bit to slow, and the carrot patch, once a haven of life, with delicious carrots, became his final resting place.
Abraham and Leela were devistated at their son, Hopperfoots death. Leela sat at the teak table staring at the flowers, in a vase, below a silver framed mirror.
"How dare that Farmer Blake kill Hopperfoot" said Leela "no amount of carrots can replace a rabbits life, and in the wide eyed essence of youth".
Abraham sat on his light brown saude couch, with madness in his eyes. He looked down at the amber liquid in his glass.
"They take my only sons life. I vow revenge. I wont stop until Farmer Blake pays" he thought.
A crooked portrait hun on the wall. The walls were made of ritch dirt and the lamp barely lit the burrow.
Mother rabbit, Leela, was devistated at little Hopperfoots death, but father rabbit Abraham brewed and steeped over the death, with bloodshot eyes, with deep dark dark patches underneath.
The candles, in the three pronged candle-abre, dripped, on the coffee table. The draft that came under the heavey, hard wood-en door, despite the door snake, mingled with the hot air, from the fire, burning, in the fire place. The fire crackled and flickered.
On it was a black pot. In the black pot, Leela's hearty winter stew was baking. But Abraham wouldn't eat tonight. The only stew he would have, is the stewing of every bone, flesh and blood, that pumped around his rabbit body.
It was nightfall. Abraham emerged from the burrow. The night was lit from the windows of the farm house. The siloets bulged from the carrot plants. The barn towered darkly in close proximity. Abraham hopped towards the barn.
Abraham collected a jerry can, and a packet of matches, from the barn.
He bounded towards Farmer Blakes farmhouse. He had some trouble opening the jerry can, with his teeth, stood on his hind paws, and silently poured petrol, around the inside, of Farmer Blake's farmhouse.
The farmhouse was consumed by flames. Thee crackle of the fire ,and woosh of the fire, sounded, as Abraham watched, from the clay-y soil, of the carrot patch.
He felt justice had been done for the shooting death of Hopperfoot, his much loved, only son. He watched the fire with peace in his heart.
Farmer Blake escaped from the fire, but never had the money, to rebuild. He lives in a small loft in town. A country town. A country town, the the carrots have never been the same in. Abraham now chews wild grass and has had another son.
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