'You wake up one morning and find yourself inside a Looney Tunes cartoon with a burning desire to hunt down a certain Bugs Bunny, no matter the cost. What happens next?’

That dream-thought, then the same scene, every few frames...browns of variable tone, then holes seemingly dug by unknown creatures, and identical trees also repeating as what looks like a sleeping rabbit floats along on a puffy white cloud which, abruptly merges with a dark one; I suppose that's what awakened me, zapped by a clearly outlined lightning bolt--it's accompanied by by a man-made clap of thunder caused by someone off-camera wiggling a piece of aluminum. I'm not sure how I know this because technically I'm an inanimate thing, a weapon used by one-dimensional drawings of humans who hold onto me, usually with a firm grip while doing something called hunting or when they're scared.

I'm used to being picked up, loaded and pointed ahead of whoever's holding me; my usual user likes to hunt rabbits, calling them 'wabbits', 'cwazy wabbits' which is why I must've been dreaming about one up there in the sky, too high for my 'burning' sensation to reach, and, now that I think about it, that's why that bolt of lightning happened, imitating what I send in the direction of what's being hunted--in this case that rabbit.

My owner, Mr. Fudd, he lives alone, as far as I can tell. And since there're no other humans around he talks to himself and---this is the strangest thing--to me, calling me by name, a name he's given me: Kafka, it sounds like, although sometimes it sounds like 'calfga', especially whenever he's been drinking from this jug I know kept near me on a shelf.

One night, not long ago, he was reading out loud from a story by another human he likes to talk about alot, another human being with the same name he uses to address me--that's how he says it, too: 'Mr. Kavkah, you certainly understood how lonely and confused a body can be....'. I remember it so well because it was the exact time, to the minute up on the clock near me, that I realized that I could...think. This is how it starts, word for word:

"When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin."

'Vermin! Oh, wondrous wonder of wabbits----this is how I feel most mornings, when I'm hungwy...and you, Mr. Kavkah, you will help me, with your burning chambers two, to hunt and cook my wabbit!!'

I've gotten used to this hunting business; in fact, I rather look forward to it, seeing...I mean feeling that warm then hot feeling when I send my thundering lightning out so fast at running rabbits. Just so you understand, I'd just as soon stay up on my rack, being with my friends the jug and the clock, but, since it's often very cold here in my cabin it's good to get warm regularly, so hunting's the only way since the fireplace is far from me.

Lately, there's a new companion near us, the jug, the clock and me---and it's made of different stuff Mr. Fudd calls meat and bone.

It's, well, it's a foot...of a rabbit. He shouted the day he hung it up next to me: 'Now my luck's gonna change, ha, ha, ha, ha..!' The jug was pretty empty that night, I can tell you; I could tell by the way Mr. Fudd slept on the floor under us, and by how the wind which comes in through the cracks in our wall whistled through the jug with the cork out and in Mr. Fudd's hand the whole night. The next morning he must've been surprised that it had been in his hand overnight because he said: 'That was a corker of a night, Mr. Kavgah....'

I have to confess that that rabbit's foot did change things, and I suppose it was for the better, for both of us, me and Mr. Fudd, that is, but not for the clock or the jug.

You see, we both got used to being what we thought we wanted---me, to be warm most of the time, what with my barrels burning hot quite a lot and Mr. Fudd's belly being full of all kinds of rabbit dishes like stew, barbequed rabbit and all sorts of other ways.

After a time, though, I must say that Mr. Fudd he wasn't able to refill the jug; the best I could make out (as he was sobbing something awful when I heard it) was that the man who delivered whatever went into the jug--what the jug said was 'spirits'--he moved away from the village. About that same time Mr. Fudd stopped taking me with him when he went out--which was not very often--as he appeared sad most of the time. The clock, which is much better at that sort of thing, told me that Mr. Fudd stayed awake more and more, unable to sleep which was usually very loud since he made a noise called snoring then, but not much any more. Not much laughter around here anymore, except when the clock tries to cheer me up, its hand, the longer one, pointing back at itself, whispering: 'Face it....'

Another thing was that Mr. Fudd no longer needed me--it was a strange feeling, really, one I sort of liked even if I stayed cold most of the time. It's like I told the clock, and it made its face seem to smile like Mr. Fudd used to: 'Maybe it's best that I just lay here, not burning hot, and chasing rabbits just so he could...survive.'

Why, just the other day a beetle and a cockroach crawled over me, even my trigger; it seemed less lonely, somehow. They didn't want anything from me, probably didn't even know my name, Mr. Kavcah.'

But that was the day it happened and I ended up here, in an even colder place, with lots of other things, and most of them aren't as nice as the clock, although there are tiny ones called watches..that's a funny name, who do they watch? And everything, including me, has a tag with string saying its name--mine says 'weapon, Fudd', I heard the man with the shiny metal thing with writing on it tell another man who shook his head and said: "Somebody, say Yosemite Sam, shoulda got up there sooner, took that thing away from him..."

Of course they did, that's how I got here. Poor Mr. Fudd, his mouth said 'Mista Sam...sur, this is what they do to rabid dogs' and then my trigger got pulled.

I guess he thought about those darn rabbits too much; he did used to say they were 'cwazy', maybe eating their meat just made him that way too.

Huh, I just thought of a funny joke, he'd have liked it, Mr. Fudd: "Cwazy....rabid!" I hope my next human is a vegetarian.