It’s been three years, and I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that there’s no undoing what we did that night; that I’ll never look in the mirror and see my old human face again.
That book — the Lagomorphicon — not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d never opened it, never joked about ‘doin’ it bunny-style’, never blithely read those Latin words aloud. But what’s done is done.
Some people accepted me, and the ones who didn’t… well, they’re not part of my life anymore. I have a new job. It’s not teaching, but Principal Ward was right: the kids never would have taken me seriously. Just last week, some neighborhood teenagers yelled, “Hey, Watership Down! Think fast!” and threw carrots at me as they passed.
I stood my ground, but they just walked on. I wish I had been strong enough not to eat the carrots.