Chapter 11: Killing Derby

So how should I go about killing Derby?

I don’t really want to kill him, but I guess by now I’m committed to it.

I’m sitting in my apartment and the sofa’s too bright and the Edvard Munch print on my wall is all blurry because I’m crying. What kind of cruel world is it that forces me to kill my own dog?

I’m sitting on the sofa, and the rabbits are filling my head with their cruel, bright laughter.

Haha, they say.

Do it, Fred. Do it. Kick her head in.

Derby’s a him.

Kick HIS head in, then.

I hate these fucking bunnies. It’s their fault I even have to do this — kill Derby. They’re making me do it, making me murder my favorite pet just to cover their asses. Which is crazy; I’m killing the dog I made up to protect the anonymity of the rabbits living in my head. Tell me that ain’t fucked up.

What’s even more fucked up? I always wanted a dog; I never wanted the rabbits.

Tell me that ain’t irony.