That Kind of Story
by Arshia Eghbali ︎︎︎Once upon a time, in a faraway forest, lived a little bunny— (Yes, it’s really that kind of story. So what? You’re not gonna read on? You’re gonna go back and doomscroll on Instagram feeling worse about yourself? Go on then. Do it. What do I care? Your attention span is basically nonexistent. You can’t even stop your mind from wandering after a single sentence. It’s literally just a piece of flash fiction! Anyway…) –One sunny morning, one of those days that you can finally feel that spring is in the air— (How does it feel Sherlock? Congratulations! You’ve got it all figured. It’s not “that kind of story”. It’s that other kind of story. Yeah, it’s gonna be me ranting at you between these parentheses and to hell with the bunny. No shit. Did you think I was gonna really write about a fucking bunny?! Like, already when you read “once upon a time” at the beginning of any story, you know it’s gonna be all ironic and postmodern and whatnot. You’re not all that brilliant for seeing through it… and I’m not smart either for writing it. It’s just form. I’ll do my thing and you just… read. Please. Let’s get it over with. The world is going to shit, and we are here talking fiction…) –the little bunny left his burrow, as usual, to go and look for some wild berries— (Ok, seriously. What’s your problem? Why are you so judgmental? You judge the stupid bunny story; you judge my attempts at sophistication and self-irony… You’ve seen it all, haven’t you? Oh, haven’t we all? Every idea, every formal experiment, every high concept, they have all been milked dry. This is the twenty-first century. We’re living in a world oversaturated with “content”. Originality is a myth. And it’s not like back in “the good old days” people were more authentic and original, there were simply less people who got the chance to put something out there. And when they did, it obviously appeared more unique and original. Anyway, back to the stupid bunny nonsense—where was I…)
(Sorry… this is the bunny speaking… Puffer’s the name. Look, I usually never do this, but this is a bit too much. Why do you keep insulting me to make your point? This is a shitty gig. I have a bunch of other stories to be in and honestly, the pay is way better, and the prestige, man... Have you heard of Animal Farm by George Orwell?)
(Ehm… excuse me, I’m, eh… I’m the anteater—)
(Wait what? Who the fuck are you?!)
(Yes, I will be in the story if you write the rest, you know… so I was hoping we could get on with it instead of these metatextual hijinks. I mean, I really appreciate it. It’s artistic and all, but um… this is my first story, I’ve never been in one before. So… I was just worried that I might not get to really do my part. It means a lot to me.)
(Ok. Come on. You weren’t expecting that, were you? Give it to me. It’s funny. “Puffer” jumping in, the joke about it being a “gig”, and an “anteater”? That creature is funny on its own. Forget the creature, the word alone is funny. And I know, if I now continue to pretend to respond to the bunny or the anteater, it becomes boring. I’m not gonna do that. Don’t worry. But let’s take a moment and appreciate what I did there: I even introduced a new character to the original story in these parentheses. That’s a good move. Admit it…)1
The bunny… Puffer went out to get his usual berries for breakfast. And that’s exactly what he did. He went and picked berries and ate them on one fine morning in early spring. Just perfect. And come to think of it, there is really no need for an anteater.
1 Editor’s note: the author was warned about the unclarity of voices in the various parentheses in the latter half of the story, but as the reader can tell, the author is quite pigheaded… (obviously this is not the editor. It’s all me. You know that…)