Story: Patricia the Snow Bunny With A Hidden Agenda – 23/08/19

Patricia the Snow Bunny’s company was in great demand. She was eloquent, witty, sophisticated, gentle, she knew she was highly requested to be at functions, intimate dinners, group gatherings, parties, wherever she could be, mixing with women bunnies and men. With her presence the room was lit up, the others almost star struck, and with her flirtatious banter, her witty charm on the hour, she spoke of politics, feminism, the economy, she was well versed in many topics that could be discussed and mentally and verbally devoured.

Whenever Patricia made her plans to holiday in Mount Hotham, she packed her suitcases full of books of great knowledge, old and current newspapers and journals, and a wealth of information to share with the lot of them. For Patricia was not only charming, she was wise, she loved to share her education with the public domain, it made her feel appreciated and lively, so very alive. For there was nothing more satisfying than sharing a good old yarn with a collegian graduate, or a journalist who was here for a rest, therein they could exchange and share knowledge, their lives currently social, she was sparkling at her best.

What Patricia was most known for, though, was being outspoken of the moral crimes occurring in the Tunsidrab, a land far off, near South America, where buildings were dark, lonesome, appalling, and their interiors were incredibly drab. Therein lived the exiled refugees of the country just near to their door, they had been persecuted and unfairly tried for imaginary crimes by their tyrannous government, and thrown out into the desert scene land of Tunisidrab to fend for themselves. Packed into the buildings like sardines they were. Patricia was most passionate about assisting these poor people, she was hoping to allow them asylum, for each individual. In this country of her freedom and equal rights, they would surely flourish and grow in society with a sense of strength and determination. However she needed to create ties with dignitaries, prime ministers, secretaries, and the like, and during her socialising at Hotham she managed to perform this without being noticed of her motives by them.

As Patricia’s charm was overwhelming, it was most certainly her strong point, something worth mentioning and saving, and henceforth she was able to get in the ears of the other important bunnies, women and men, telling them the sorrows of the Tunisidrab’s tribe quietly, again, then rephrased, emphasised again. Soon they all were aware of their plight, this they knew firmly and well, and when Patricia announced that she was wanting to gather a stockpiling of rations to deliver via plane and helicopter to them, there came a whooping, a hollering of public approval, her thoughts began to thicken, to gain wind, to set sail. Next move she knew would be to woo Jerry Springfard, the International Secretary, to travel to far off lands and create firmer ties with other dignitaries, and with this Patricia was greatly pleased with herself, for she was performing what was most important for her in her life – to save others with her ambition and effort, and make it look like it was a breeze.

So as Patricia continued to socialise, during her holiday, she pulled out papers, journals, and other holders of facts, allowed her conversational partners to surmise, for themselves – this was important – that they came to their own conclusion, that it would be best if they donated to the charity of Patricia’s choice, in order to assist the asylum seekers to be approved by the majority of the gathered group here and then. For what these well known politicians and highly ranked officials did not know was that they were slowly being manipulated by this snow bunny, for a good cause though, but slowly, more and more the seeds would be reaped, of which she had sown. She would quietly lament of their fight, she would wail of the conditions in which they lived, and by the end of the evening, everyone was discussing the very same thing. How there must be a change, the government must take action, do this again and again, until all refugees had been flown out of that desert setting and taken to their own sense of freedom.

There was no point in leaving them there, baking in the dry desert wind, suffering without the majority of the world’s care, for their government had suppressed the information regarding the exile of the large group of their citizens, almost the lot of them, and soon it would be time for their government to come to justice. Patricia spread the word, for she knew of the situation from her journalist father who was stationed in Bosteroo, a nearby country, who would trek toward the clan of people daily to make sure they were okay, despite their paining.

Because of her wit and her style, Patricia won them all over, they were lulled into a sense of security, quickly, not in a while, and then promises of pledges, and new charities being formed, and all hum to do it was a wonderful moment, for this precious clever bunny girl. By the end of the each evening, a committee had been formed, with a president, a secretary, and someone to take the future minutes when they held a meeting with their board. In the future they would discuss how quickly they would and could be able to save these disadvantaged peoples, and integrate them into society, where they would be known as being of the same stature and equality as the citizens who had been born here, migrated here, lived, born, and living life as they grew old.

By the end of the snow season, Patricia’s dream had become complete: all displaced refugees from the tiny country had been placed within planes, jumbo jets, and been sent to a land of greatness, where we live so free. They were so grateful to be given this lease on life, this second chance to grow from strength to strength, live a life of safety, and become like Patricia, their hero, more knowledgeable and wise, and at the monumental banquet where the new citizens of this land were brought, wined and dined and celebrated, their hearts swelled, their eyes widened and grew damp, they knew that they had received such a gift, from a little bunny who knew how to properly and tactically present the saddening facts. And they all thanked her, swarming around her, holding her in their arms in a bundle of love, they would never forget what she had done for them, she had provided them a life that, without her, they would have never experienced or had dreamed of, let alone known.

And as for the rouge country, the brutish government of Tunsidrab, their official members would be rounded up and brought before a formal panel, a version of a royal commission, where their crimes of this world would be held before them, their guilt was so obvious, so strong, now became so well known, that never again would they be permitted freedom within this world. Instead they would be locked away, it was them now tried and punished, but for actual crimes, naught of their pleas would be listened to, nor bargained, they would be punished forevermore, behind the jail’s walls would they live, rot and die.

The world felt so certain that imprisonment was the right thing, moral and correct, of this they were sure, their fates were delivered and signed by a judge of the greatest achievements to speak, his utterances were never ignored. His final words of the case had been these: “Beg you not for your freedom, for you have consistently lied through your teeth. Learn for yourselves inner peace and pray for forgiveness, for we cannot provide you with these. I find your entire government guilty, on all accounts, be certain to ruminate about what you did to your people who, to you, were originally so devout. Imprisonment for life.” And his gavel had met the wood twice. Silence, then a moment of positive and passionate outcry.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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Poem and Drawing: The Lying Leader – 31/07/19

The Leader projected his lies on stage, each and every single day.

He stood to attention as he lied,

His disrespectful morning salute,

An utterance of how perfect the world could be,

He never expelled the truth.

Instead he preferred,

To distance himself from truthful Others,

So of his intentions,

He could impress many others.

For the moment of truth for him is,

Obscuring the totality of life,

Pretending as though everything were perfect,

To his followers he did not allow self made opinions or expressions or for them to freely decide.

What was he the leader of?

Is it really that relevant to know of? Because,

In every little corner of the world,

There lurked a tongue twisting liar with a serpent sharp tongue wrapped around a perfectly formed pearl.

Sometimes in life we need to hear an untruth,

To bolster our confidence,

To allow us a positive view,

Of ourselves we sometimes must also tell a lie,

But what does silence mean when it permeates the atmospheric skies?

I do not take forced silences well,

They are simply a lie of omission,

What can we expect from a leader who continually lies to the world and himself,

A positive predeliction.

And so this type of world leader regresses slightly then presses forth,

Creating understanding of the realm of his projected world,

His followers blindly scurry behind him, eating up his words,

Like desperate field mice they are within his neck of the convoluted woods.

What does it take to silence an untruth?

What will it take to cause a firmer view?

Of correct understanding, a positive landing,

Into a land of genuine nature and a solid knowledge to share.

For this liar’s land was far too serious,

I could hear a grumbling now in the crowd,

The people had begun to suspect and know some more, not enough,

But of the truth they must now know.

A roar above the previous silence,

A devilish wave of due diligence,

And away were his followers, from him they escaped,

Into the land of the freer world, where they could think openly and be able to contemplate.

We don’t take to liars kindly,

We are glad this leader has now gone,

Been overthrown in the pursuit of true knowledge,

The new world has been known to become.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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