The Rabbit Hutch

by Tess Gunty

On a hot night in Apartment C4, Blandine Watkins exits her body. She is only eighteen years old, but she has spent most of her life wishing for this to happen. The agony is sweet, as the mystics promised. It’s like your soul is being stabbed with light, the mystics said, and they were right about that, too.

In the first chapter, so not a spoiler

C4: Three teenage boys. One teenage girl. A stranger. A goat. A neighbor. Curdled plans. Punishment. Punishing who. Each confused. Each frightened. Laughter perched. A room of kicking hearts, kicking faster. Scent of roses. Pocketful of clovers. Good intentions. Tears on her face. A knife in his hands. No. Please. No. Stop. No. Don’t. One of the boys films on his phone, grinning. This will get so many views.

To stave off an anxiety attack, Joan is breathing to the beat of “Ave Maria.” She tries to picture the grievers—tries to picture the knife of grief right in the heart of their guts—but sees only an inexplicable beagle in a sweater, glowing before a desktop.

“The Church teaches that we’re born with original sin,” says Father Tim. “The temptation to behave selfishly is something that we have to negotiate throughout our lives. But as we grow up, we also develop a capacity to override our temptations. That’s what differentiates human beings from every other animal, as far as I can tell. If you had no choice but to obey every impulse, we wouldn’t call it a ‘sin’—we’d just call it an instinct.

“Hey, Siri,” says Moses. “Who’s in charge?” “One sec,” she replies. He waits and waits, but she never comes back.

On the opposite end of the sidewalk, a large woman in her sixties collapsed. Immediately, two people rushed to the woman’s side, gingerly tending to her, touching her shoulders and face, speaking to her as though she were their mother—a cherished one—and Joan understood that human tenderness was not to be mocked. It was the last real thing.

I mean we don’t want to infantilize ourselves, but what is consent? ‘We’ voted for these maniacs; was that not consensual? To what are we consenting, exactly? So if you examine this scenario—you and me—and see anything other than a small version of our big disaster, and if you look in the mirror and see anything other than a red power tie on your neck, then you’re repressing the truth of your plundering, exploitative tendencies in order to get through the day.

I’m trying to recognize the full human dimension of each person I encounter, and I’m—honestly, I’m exhausted.