Disclaimer: I own nothing about this story (except for the word processing software that typed it) Do you hear me? The great Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld bits, and the ever-revered Monty Python own the rabbit.

-Angharad

So, that's over, we can proceed to a short lesson in Discworld evangelism:



It was a lovely day in Ankh-Morpork, the city that never sleeps*, and life went about its daily business (For that matter, so did Death, but it is not generally considered very pleasant to mention this, unless one happens to be an undertaker). Salespeople sold, grocers grocered, shrubbers hand- crafted finely made shrubberies, and Constable Visit-the-Infidel-with- Informative-Pamphlets, on a diverting holiday(for him), did everything his name implied.

"Om is truly great!," he informed a bewildered tourist, approximately the twenty first he had so accosted. "For as Zeberiah said to Jumenai before the gates of Serin, 'Well and good is he that has his figgin fully toasted, for Lo! the days of dearth are nigh and Death walks the Earth! Care for a pamphlet?.'"

The tourist, dodging a tall, skeletal figure in black robes, replied with a noncommital "Errm." and hurriedly remembered an appointment at the drapers.

Constable Visit sighed at this show of infidelity, and redoubled his efforts at recruiting promising Omnians.**

****

After several hours (and three-hundred-sixteen bewildered and/or irate citizens later), it was finally dawning on Constable Visit's rather one- track mind that perhaps his efforts were not being well received. This was hardly encouraging. "For," he announced, "It is writ large in our most holy documents that 'When the infidel shall pass the faithful with nary a care for salvation, and the days grow short with the coming of affliction, it is spoke by Heremenaeh's prophecy of old that there shall come a great beast from the south, and there will be much fear and doubt, and woe! unto thee if thou shalt disregard the Light.'"

The passerby, hearing this, looked at each other*** with annoyance and a small measure of fear that someone this deranged could possibly be wandering the streets unrestrained. There were vague, uneasy murmurs about "nice safe place with padded walls", "kind people," and "industrial strength sedatives."

Their discussion, however, was ended quickly. "Look!" someone shouted, not very creatively, but effectively. The general populace looked. There, sitting on the southern end of the street, was a small white rabbit. It twitched its nose and looked about curiously.

"And lo! the Beast Cometh!" screamed Constable Visit fearfully.

"Ah, 's only a bunny," someone said derisively.

The bunny leapt five feet into the air and ripped the throat out of the speaker, squealing as it flew. Within seconds, he was reduced into a skeletal remain. RIGHT, a voice intoned, IT WAS ONLY A BUNNY. The conquering rodent twitched its nose and hopped quietly down the street, leaving an extremely shocked crowd behind it. "Bloody hell!" someone said, incredulous. "Can rabbits do that?!"

"Yes, O doubtful one! The voice of Om hath spoken!" Constable Visit shouted. "Surely there be some now amongst you who hath seen the light?"

****

Afterwards, Constable Visit reflected that never had there been such an interest in his informative pamphlets. Perhaps he was finally getting through to the infidels, after all.

















*This is because you are likely to find vital bits of anatomy missing if you doze off.

**Complicated by the fact that in certain mid-Klatchian dialects the word "om" means a particularly persistent intestinal disorder.

***Without, of course, making eye contact. This can be fatal.