Midnight Run
Driving snow pelts my face. The wind slices through my scarf and slips down my parka, chilling me through three layers of clothes. My legs carve furrows in the knee-high snow, linking the library to the Kwikie Mart I’m headed for midnight munchies. It’s Friday, but with finals looming, the university libraries are crowded with people cramming questionably useful data into their heads, while the clubs languish in silence. Ask any random student where they’d rather be, and only a liar would say, “here.” But we’re sold on the promise for a better future.
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Ten paces from my destination, a bunny jumps out from the bushes lining the outer walls of the convenience store. It sits on its haunches, ears rotating like radars as the button nose and whiskers twitch, whether gauging for danger or searching for food, I don’t know. The snow clings to its fur, blending with it so the bunny seems sculpted by the drifts. Against my better judgement, I gasp, loud enough for the bunny to turn first its ears and then its head in my direction. It stares at me through the storm, its eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlamps. Does it look upon me in judgement, the dumb human ill-equipped for this life? My fingers itch to touch it, pick it up in my arms and cuddle it like a pet. I hold my breath, instead, and for a moment, it’s as if the world holds it with me — no pending exams, no future to worry about, no storm to turn me into ice. In this moment, it’s just the bunny and me… until a snow plow chugs past, its blade screeching against the asphalt.
The bunny bolts, vanishing into the storm. What I would give to sprint after it, join it in whatever quest it’s rushing to! But ahead of me, the snowbank has doubled, like the courses I’ll slog through next semester if I flunk my finals.
