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There is a rabbit living in my stomach.
Rabbits are soft and tender, yet this one is strict and his claws are sharp, so sharp they tear through my skin and there's nothing I can do about it.
He prevents me from screaming when I must, he urges me to do things I would never do, he speaks nonsense, makes me nauseous.
"Silas" he says "Silas" he repeats, he is taunting me, I’m sure of it.
And there's nothing I can do.
Sometimes, I imagine myself taking a scalpel and slicing through my stomach to get him out, make him leave me alone. But he protests against it, he looks at me and I see what he truly is, what he always will be; his grey-ish brown fur, small, marble-like eyes, a delicate creature, one I must be careful with. He looks up at me and I can see the fear in his eyes so I stop, I must stop, he is noble.
"That man is evil" says the rabbit "Lord Luckenbill's out to get you" he insists "father wants you dead" I am reminded. I should hate him, I should resent him. A part of me wants to scream at him to get out, to leave me alone, a part of me wants to kill him even. I'd grasp his hind legs and twist his little neck. But instead, I ask him "What is your name?".
And for the first time ever he is different, he looks tender, he looks soft. "Silas" he says "Silas" he repeats, and for the first time ever I get it, he's a part of me, he's just scared.