She clutches a stuffed rabbit
Close to her body.
His ears are threadbare,
All the fur has been loved off.

The lights overhead
Can mean life or death,
So she looks into the glassy eyes of her rabbit,
Her eyes imitating his,
What her mother would call "misty eyed".

She stares at the lights,
As they become more and more, ever the closer.
Ever the brighter.

She drops her rabbit into a bush, whispering,
"This is your chance. Go on, become."
The lights get brighter.
The bush does nothing but rustle.
"Please." She whispers.

The lights are too bright.
There's a hissing noise,
And in the shadow of the lights,
Much too bright too see her,
A rabbit with a fluffy white tail,
And very real paws,
Nervously bounds out of the bushes.

The rabbit hesitates,
Almost looks back.

And then he's gone.