It was 1992, the polyester fur of the Easter Bunny costume clung to Picasso Jimi's skin, a damp reminder of the sweltering April heatwave gripping Fort Misery University. A line of eager children and their weary parents snaked across the quad, each awaiting their turn for a photo op with the holiday mascot. Jimi, a sophomore art major with a penchant for surrealism, had taken the gig as a favor to his roommate, whose uncle managed the campus events.
A woman with four children approached the makeshift photo set, a harried expression etched on her face. Three girls, a braided brigade of 6, 9, and 13, bounced with anticipation, their eyes sparkling at the sight of the giant rabbit. The youngest, a chubby-cheeked toddler of 22 months, clung to his mother's leg, his lower lip trembling.
"Alright, kiddos, who's first?" the mother chirped, her voice strained.
The eldest girl, her braces gleaming, hopped onto Jimi's lap, a practiced smile plastered on her face. Click. Flash. The camera captured the moment, freezing the girl's awkward pose and Jimi's hidden grimace behind the bunny's vacant grin.
The second daughter, a freckled whirlwind of energy, followed suit, giggling as she adjusted her Easter bonnet. Click. Flash. Another forced smile, another silent groan from within the bunny suit.
The youngest girl, a shy creature with wide, curious eyes, hesitated before climbing onto Jimi's lap. She reached out a tentative hand to stroke the bunny's plush ear, her touch surprisingly gentle. Click. Flash. A genuine smile flickered across the girl's face, a brief respite from the monotony of the day.
The toddler, sensing his turn, erupted into a wail of protest. "No! No bunny!" he shrieked, clinging to his mother's leg like a barnacle.
"Oh, come on, Marcus," the mother pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "It's just the Easter Bunny. Look, your sisters are having fun."
Marcus remained unconvinced, his chubby fists balled in defiance. "No bunny! No pictures!"
The mother sighed, defeated. "Alright, alright," she conceded, her shoulders slumping. "You girls go ahead. Marcus can sit this one out."
As the three girls posed for a final photo, their mother, in a desperate attempt to elicit genuine smiles, launched into a series of goofy faces and ridiculous noises. Jimi, from within the stifling confines of the bunny suit, watched the spectacle unfold with a mixture of amusement and pity. The polyester fur itched, the oversized head throbbed, and the smell of stale candy and children's sweat permeated the air. Yet, through it all, a flicker of something akin to joy sparked within him. Perhaps, even in the midst of this absurd situation, there was a glimmer of the surreal beauty he sought in his art.
A few feet away from the photo pedestal, Picasso Frogqueen, Jimi's flamboyant superhero companion and designated Easter Bunny wrangler, stood atop a wobbly wooden crate. Clad in a bright green elf costume complete with pointy shoes and a jaunty cap, she surveyed the crowd with an air of theatrical authority.
"Hear ye, hear ye, fair citizens of Fort Misery!" she proclaimed, her voice amplified by a megaphone fashioned from a cardboard tube and tin foil. "The Easter Bunny requires a brief respite to replenish his carrot supply and recharge his batteries!"
A collective groan arose from the children, their faces falling as the prospect of a delay threatened their sugar-fueled euphoria.
"But... but I haven't gotten my picture yet!" wailed a little girl in a pink tutu, her lower lip quivering.
"And I wanted to ask the Easter Bunny if he's ever met the Tooth Fairy!" chimed in a boy with a mischievous grin.
Frogqueen, ever the improviser, seized the opportunity to entertain. "Fear not, my young friends!" she declared, her voice dripping with mock reassurance. "The Easter Bunny shall return momentarily, refreshed and ready for more cuddles and photos. And as for the Tooth Fairy, well, that's a question best answered by Santa himself!"
A wave of confusion washed over the children. "Santa?" a chorus of voices questioned. "But it's Easter!"
Frogqueen winked conspiratorially. "Ah, but you see, I'm merely on loan from the North Pole for the day," she explained, gesturing towards her elf attire. "Santa's a bit over-staffed this time of year, what with Christmas being over. So, he kindly lent me and sent me down here to help out the Easter Bunny."
The children, their imaginations ignited by this unexpected twist, erupted into a flurry of questions. "Does Santa have a swimming pool for the reindeer?" "What does Mrs. Claus do all day?" "Can elves fly?"
Frogqueen, basking in the spotlight, fielded the inquiries with aplomb, her answers a mix of fantastical embellishments and playful teasing. The 15-minute break stretched into 20, then 25, as the children, captivated by her storytelling, lost track of time. Even the adults, drawn in by her infectious energy, found themselves chuckling at her antics.
Picasso Jimi, meanwhile, sat in a secluded room at the back of the campus bookstore, gratefully peeling off the sweat-soaked bunny suit. He listened to the distant sounds of Frogqueen's voice, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Perhaps, he mused, this absurd Easter gig wasn't so bad after all.
Jimi was sitting with Picasso Jokes in the cramped back room, the stifling heat of the Easter Bunny costume clinging to him like a second skin. He yanked off the oversized head, relishing the rush of cool air against his sweat-drenched face.
"Thank god that's over for a few minutes," he muttered, collapsing onto a stack of folding chairs.
Picasso Jokes, his fellow art student and other Easter Bunny helper, looked up from his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Everything alright in there, Jimi?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Jimi took a long swig from his water bottle, savoring the cool liquid as it slid down his parched throat. "Yeah, just a little hot and bothered," he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "But the kids were great, for the most part."
"For the most part?" Jokes echoed, his interest piqued.
"Yeah," Jimi chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "There was this one kid, Marcus, who absolutely refused to come near me. He clung to his mom like a koala, screaming about how I smelled like carrots and nightmares."
Jokes burst out laughing, his laughter echoing in the small room. "Carrots and nightmares? That's a new one."
Jimi nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "He was hilarious. The way he shook his head and balled up his little fists, it was like he was facing down a monster."
"Maybe he was," Jokes mused, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Maybe you are a monster, Jimi. A carrot-scented, nightmare-inducing Easter Bunny monster."
Jimi feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "How could you say such a thing, Jokes? I'm a harmless, fluffy bunny, here to spread joy and chocolate."
Jokes winked, his smile widening. "Sure you are, Jimi. Sure you are."
A sharp rap on the door interrupted their laughter. Picasso Frogqueen, Jimi's flamboyant superhero companion and designated Easter Bunny wrangler, poked her head into the room. "Time to hop back out there, Jimi," she announced with a flourish. "The masses are getting restless."
Picasso Jimi sighed, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Alright, alright," he said, reluctantly hoisting the bunny head back onto his shoulders. "Duty calls."
Picasso Jokes clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. "Go get 'em, tiger," he said, a playful glint in his eye.
Jimi, with Jokes trailing behind him, made his way towards the door. Just as they were about to exit, a small figure darted into the room, his eyes wide with terror. It was Marcus, the carrot and nightmare-fearing toddler, now separated from his family.
He froze in place, his gaze locked onto Jimi's bunny costume. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, with a blood-curdling scream, Marcus took off running, his tiny legs churning as he barreled past his mother and sisters, who were at least 100 feet down the hallway.
The sound of his cries echoed down the hallway, leaving Picasso Jimi and Jokes behind, stunned in silence.
A sudden commotion erupted down the hallway, a blur of blue overalls and chubby legs streaking past his family and headed to the open door at the front of the building.
"Marcus! Get back here!" a woman's voice cried out, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic giggles.
Jimi and Jokes exchanged bewildered glances, then rushed to the hallway just in time to see a small boy, clutching a half-eaten chocolate bunny, burst through the exit and into the sunlight. His mother and sisters trailed behind, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"He's terrified of the Easter Bunny!" the mother called out, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowd as she disappeared in pursuit of her son.
The room erupted in laughter. Jimi and Jokes doubled over, clutching their sides, tears streaming down their faces.
"Carrots and nightmares, indeed!" Jokes gasped, wiping his eyes.
Picasso Jimi, still chuckling, shook his head. "That kid's got a future in horror films."
After a few minutes, the laughter subsided and the room fell silent. Jimi took a deep breath, composing himself. "Well," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "guess it's time to get back to the carrot patch."
He re-donned the bunny head, adjusting the oversized ears. Jokes gave him a thumbs-up as he stepped back out into the chaos.
Outside, Picasso Frogqueen, still channeling her inner elf, raised her makeshift megaphone. "Attention, all ye bunny enthusiasts!" she announced, her voice echoing across the quad. "The Easter Bunny has returned, refreshed and ready for more photo ops!"
A cheer erupted from the crowd. A little girl in a pink tutu, her face beaming with excitement, stepped forward, her arms outstretched towards the giant rabbit.
"Bunny!" she squealed, her voice filled with pure joy.
Jimi, despite the stifling heat and the lingering smell of carrots, couldn't help but smile.
The little girl in the pink tutu, her eyes sparkling with excitement, climbed onto Jimi's lap. "Hi, Easter Bunny!" she chirped, her voice barely a whisper. "My name is Lily, and I've been a very good girl this year."
Picasso Jimi, peering out from behind the bunny's vacant grin, fought back a chuckle. He nodded his head and waved, careful not to speak lest he ruin the illusion.
Lily, oblivious to Jimi's internal struggle, continued her monologue. "For Easter, I really want a new Barbie Dreamhouse, and a puppy, and a unicorn, and a real fairy wand, and..."
Jimi's eyes widened as the list went on and on. He nodded and waved frantically, his mind racing to keep up with the girl's endless demands. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, but he maintained his composure, his silence adding to the Easter Bunny's mystique.
Finally, Lily paused for breath, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "And that's all I want, Easter Bunny," she declared, patting Jimi's furry arm.
Jimi, relieved the onslaught was over, gave a final wave and a thumbs-up before Lily hopped off his lap, her pink tutu swirling around her.
Next up was little Billy, a frown etched on his face. He scowled at the Easter Bunny, his arms crossed defiantly.
"Smile, Billy!" his mother pleaded, contorting her face into a series of ridiculous expressions.
Billy remained unmoved, his scowl deepening.
Picasso Jokes, sensing an opportunity for amusement, stepped forward. "Hey there, Billy the Kid!" he chirped, wiggling his fingers playfully. "What's with the grumpy face? Did someone steal your Easter candy?"
Billy glared at Jokes, his silence deafening.
Undeterred, Jokes launched into a series of silly jokes and puns, his voice rising in pitch with each punchline. Billy's scowl wavered for a moment, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure, his face hardening once more.
Jokes sighed, defeated. "Well, Billy," he said, her voice softening, "whenever you're ready to crack a smile, I can kill the Easter Bunny for you."
Billy smiled, his scowl temporarily broken.
Flash!
“Got ya!” the photographer exclaimed.
Next in line was a small child with a mop of unruly brown hair and eyes that seemed too wise for his age. He approached Picasso Jimi with a cautious curiosity, his gaze fixed on the Easter Bunny's oversized paws.
"Mr. Easter Bunny," he began, his voice surprisingly deep for someone so small, "I have a question."
Jimi, bracing himself for the inevitable barrage of candy-related inquiries, nodded slowly.
"If you lay eggs," the child continued, his brow furrowed in concentration, "then are you a chicken? But you're a bunny. So how can you be both a chicken and a bunny?"
Jimi blinked, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected philosophical question. He racked his brain, searching for a suitable response. But how do you explain the complexities of holiday mythology to a child who's just beginning to grasp the concept of object permanence?
"Well," Jimi began, his voice muffled by the bunny head, "that's a very good question..."
"And another thing," the child interrupted, his eyes widening with newfound intensity. "If you're a bunny, shouldn't you be eating carrots instead of delivering them? And what about the Easter eggs? Do you lay those too? Or are they from chickens? But then why don't chickens deliver them?"
Jimi's head spun. He felt like he was trapped in a Socratic dialogue with a pint-sized Plato. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
The child, sensing the Easter Bunny's confusion, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you even real?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Jimi, flustered and unsure how to respond, resorted to his trusty tactics. He nodded vigorously, waved his arms, and flashed a thumbs-up.
The child stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Okay," he said simply, jumping down from the Easter Bunny’s lap and walking away.
Jimi watched the child disappear into the crowd, a sense of bewilderment washing over him. He had faced down screaming toddlers and grumpy kids, but nothing could have prepared him for the existential angst of a small child questioning the very nature of his existence.
A few more kids and their parents made their way through the line, each with their own unique energy and demands, before Picasso Frogqueen once again took to her soapbox. "Alright, my little chickadees," she announced, her voice echoing across the quad, "the Easter Bunny needs another quick carrot break! Be back in a jiffy!"
With a sigh of relief, Jimi made a beeline for the nearest restroom. He ducked into a stall, eager to shed the stifling heat of the costume. But as he fumbled with the zipper on the back of the bunny suit, it snagged, refusing to budge.
"Come on, you stupid thing," Jimi muttered, yanking at the zipper with increasing frustration.
Just as he was about to give up and resign himself to a sweaty eternity, the bathroom door creaked open. Two figures entered, their voices muffled by the tiled walls.
"Hey, Marcus, you okay, buddy?" a deep voice said, followed by the sound of small footsteps.
Jimi froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He recognized that voice. It was Marcus's mom's friend, the one who had tried to coax the terrified toddler into taking a picture.
"Bunny scared," Marcus whimpered, his voice echoing in the small space.
Jimi winced, silently cursing his luck. He held his breath, hoping they wouldn't notice him.
"Don't worry, champ," the man said, his voice soothing. "The Easter Bunny isn't real. It's just a person in a costume."
Jimi cringed. Way to go, buddy, he thought. Thanks for ruining the magic of Easter.
With a grunt of exertion, Jimi finally managed to wriggle out of the upper half of the bunny suit. He sighed in relief, feeling the cool air on his bare skin. But as he reached behind him to unzip the bottom half, a loud ripping sound filled the stall.
The next thing Jimi knew, he was tumbling out of the costume and the stall, his arms flailing wildly as he landed in a heap on the bathroom floor. The bunny head, still attached to the top half of the suit, rolled across the tiles, coming to rest against the wall.
"Mommy! Mommy!" he shrieked, pointing a chubby finger at the headless bunny on the floor. "It's the bunny monster!"
Before Jimi could even react, Marcus let out another bloodcurdling scream and bolted out the bathroom door and down the hallway, his tiny legs pumping furiously.
Jimi lay there for a moment, stunned and disheveled, the remnants of the bunny suit sprawled around him. He could hear the distant sound of Marcus's mother calling his name, her voice a mix of panic and exasperation.
He sighed, a wry smile spreading across his face. "Well," he muttered, "that could have gone better."
He reached for the discarded bunny head, placing it back on his own. As he stood up, brushing off the dust and grime, he couldn't help but chuckle. This Easter gig was turning out to be a lot more eventful than he had anticipated.
As Jimi emerged from the restroom, the bunny head firmly back in place, he was met with an unexpected sight. A crowd had gathered in the hallway, their faces a mixture of concern and anger. Whispers of "Did you see that?" and "That poor child!" filled the air.
A stern-looking woman, presumably Marcus's mother, stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation. "Scaring children like that?"
Jimi blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. "Ma'am, I assure you, it was an accident," he stammered, trying to maintain his composure. "I didn't mean to scare anyone."
The crowd muttered in disbelief. A man with a bushy mustache shook his head in disgust. "You call that an accident? You traumatized that poor boy!"
Picasso Jimi felt a wave of panic wash over him. He had no idea how to explain the bizarre sequence of events that had led to this moment. How could he possibly convince these people that he wasn't a monster?
"Look," he said, his voice rising above the murmurs, "I'm just a student doing a job. I didn't want to scare anyone, especially not a child."
The crowd remained unconvinced. "Yeah, right," a woman in a floral dress scoffed. "You probably get a kick out of it."
Jimi felt a surge of anger, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I understand your concern," he said, his voice measured, "but I'm not the monster you think I am."
He reached up and slowly removed the bunny head, revealing his sweat-drenched face and a look of genuine remorse. "My name is Jimi," he said, "and I apologize for any distress I may have caused."
The crowd stared at him in stunned silence.
The echoes of Frogqueen's announcement had barely faded when the crowd split open once again, revealing a wide-eyed Marcus. Jimi, wearing the headless bunny suit, still sprawled on the floor, caught his gaze and his face crumpled in terror.
"Mommy! Mommy!" he wailed, turning and bolting back down the hall, his screams echoing through the building.
The commotion roused the waiting crowd. Parents peered sharply, their eyes widening as they took in the scene: the headless bunny costume, the screaming toddler, the lingering smell of sweat and fear.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second. Fingers pointed, whispers turned into accusations, and a wave of anger washed over the faces of the once-cheery parents.
"He's a monster!" someone shouted, pointing towards Picasso Jimi. "The Easter Bunny kidnapper!"
A mob mentality quickly took hold. Parents clutched their children protectively, their eyes filled with fury and suspicion. A few brave souls attempted to reason with the crowd, but their voices were drowned out by the growing chorus of outrage.
Jimi, realizing the situation was spiraling out of control, grabbed the bunny head and bolted towards the front mall entrance, followed closely by Jokes and Frogqueen.
"Run!" he yelled, his voice muffled by the oversized ears.
The trio sprinted through the mall, dodging strollers, weaving through crowds of confused shoppers, and leaping over displays of discounted chocolate bunnies.
Picasso Jokes even fired off a few marshmallows from his nipples in an effort to slow the crowd down.
Behind them, the mob gave chase, their cries of anger growing louder with each passing moment.
"Get back here, you monster!"
"We'll never forget what you did!"
"Justice for Marcus!"
Jimi, Jokes, and Frogqueen raced through the food court, sending trays of greasy pizza and half-eaten hot dogs flying. They ducked into a department store, zigzagging through racks of clothing and dodging bewildered sales associates.
The mob, hot on their heels, crashed through the store, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Mannequins toppled, shelves collapsed, and the air filled with the sound of shattering glass.
The trio burst out of the store and into the parking lot, their lungs burning, their legs aching. They sprinted towards Jimi's beat-up van, their only hope of escape.
As Jimi fumbled with the keys, the mob closed in, their faces contorted with rage. He threw open the van doors, shoving Jokes and Frogqueen inside before jumping in himself.
With a screech of tires, the van peeled out of the parking lot, leaving behind a bewildered crowd and a trail of Easter chaos.