Note: Y'know, writing this chapter actually made me realize something… I really don't treat the OCs any differently from the canon characters. Like I dunno, maybe I've just been poisoned to believe that OCs feel like they stick out WAY too much in fanfics, whether intentionally or unintentionally, but as the author I'm really surprised how natural they feel to write here. Anyways, I'm obligated to put together some piece of wisdom here, so here ya go:

The eye sees 3 dimensions. The mind sees no limitations.

"Your mind sees moooore

than what your eyes see!"

Ep. 1, Chapter 2: Trip on the Flipside (~9k words)

A pair of kids soar down the steps after her, one reckless enough to collide head-on with the thin wall beside the living room doorway from the base platform of the staircase. Hoppy takes not a second to glance back at the ensuing crash, fleeing the blonde predators on her tail. She skates across the sleek floor to evade, whizzing past the living room's entire length in a record time swift enough to make a squirrel cower.

Her first target, the empty black recliner facing the large-screen TV in the direction she had emerged, becomes the first to console her over the near-death experience, taking to her hideout in the small space behind. She can't bring herself to remove trembling arms from the recliner's surface. Breath in… breath out. But when each breath lasts less than a second, it's something more like: IN, out. IN, out.

She inhales one last time.

"Kiiids!" calls the voice of a woman. "Off to bed!"

Hoppy fits a second inhale into 1 breath - a welcome occurrence of relief and rejuvenation in a giant smile.

The groans of the kids follow squeaks of socks on the slippery floor back to the staircase. Hoppy peeps, ready to quench in the satisfying taste of revenge. Grumpy feet stomp, stomp, and stomp some more up the stairs. Check 1. Bare and unlit, only the yellow shine piercing from the top of the staircase in the back corner enters the chance of company ready to pursue her. Check 2.

The bases of her ears perk up just as subtle as a sneaky grin grows. The remainder of those floppy things remained sagged, rocking at any movement. "Waaaiiiit for it…"

Complaints ensue. The vigorous brushing of teeth can be heard past all halls and corridors before the lights click off... and all dies down. The darkness doesn't deter Hoppy's comfort and relief a bit, as the darkness ruled the court. 'So long as I'm here, NO one shall tread these lands. Except Hoppy. She gets a pass'. Check 3.

She leaps out at once and heads straight for the front of the recliner. On the first hop, she dangles on the ledge with her back limbs kicking wildly before falling onto her back. The second hop does just the trick.

On the left armrest, a thump of a hind paw hits the button of a green flashlight before she pounces forward onto the seat. Large on her right, a rather slim Mr. Shady makes an appearance, diet clearly working out for him. He sat against the opposite armrest shielded from the torch, concerningly tall legs connected to hers.

"Ah, welcome back Mr. Shady."

"What a fine ev-en-ing, lady Hoppy," the imitation responds.

Slumping her back end down the seat makes an unorthodox posture for a lady built on 4s. "Remember that mystery show with the body spray-flamethrower-wielding mob boss who hypnotized kids to steal bathroom stall doors?" She clicks through the channels. "He called himself the 'Despicable Licker'. The detective found out he REALLY liked cherry popsicles."

"Oh, he loved them."

"I love cherry popsicles. What're you up for, Mr. Shady?"

"My vote goes to the sports chan-nel."

"What, football?!" Hoppy blurts, the proposal ridiculous. Dorky limbs shimmy around for the act. "Y'know, 'Let's all grab a ball and tackle over it'. 'Then we'll kick it through a tuning fork to put it out of its misery'. That stuff?"

"Only on Sun-days."

Clashing of clanking pans against wooden spoons responds to Hoppy's next click on the channel button. "'Cooking Starts with Casey K.'?" she gasps, head suspending itself from the cushion.

"Isn't that your fav-or-ite?" Shady asks.

As a matter of fact… "Yes. It. Is. And y'know what Mr. Shady," giddiness announces for her. "I am VETOING your vote. I am watching 'Cooking Starts with Casey K.', and YOU are gonna like it! Because cooking is the sporting sensation of the taste buds, and I'm not watching football until THEY start throwing cherry popsicles. Hmm?"

"It's tough being a sha-dow," grumbles the shadow, conveniently obligated enough to get situated more sourly than the bouncing tips of painted ears below Hoppy's raised chin.

Ebullient front paws hug one another in her lap. "Oooo, this is gonna be great!"

Smile on her face, her head flops forward and faceplants her dead onto the cushion, snoring an avalanche.

Behind a thin layer of glass, the ongoing commotion of yellow trucks far beyond the perpendicular road past the secure front gate, thundering the cracks of trees far off, are blurred by the vague presence of an orange jacket reflecting off the frontward window. Progress is progress - appreciated through keen glasses from the top floor, at level with the largest cranes dispatched to the site. It's a roomy office, taking the shape of a right triangle. Thin blue carpet made the opposing yang to Dwayne's yin. It's the rounded, rectangular bubble of glass protruding from the room's basic form that gave him a sight to see beyond the front of the building. The electric whir of a ceiling fan right above the expansive, dark brown desk lacks anticipated clutter from the typical workplace, instead futurizing the possibilities of the complex below.

Moonlight glazes the 'Verm-Tech' logo plastered on the back of his silver laptop. Frenzied taps on keys synchronize with the intense sweat pouring down his face, large fingers uncovered by the black rubber gloves thrown across his desk to dance like a spider across the 4 arrow keys. The speed at which the numbered blocks in the 4-by-4 grid on the screen crowd together and merge in rapid succession would have installed wide eyes to an onlooker if it weren't for the mashing ensuing.

Left.

Up.

Down.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Down.

In its sleek black slot, one telephone on the right of the laptop commits an unspeakable act, sending the laptop itself soaring away by the doing of Dwayne's thrashing arm.

Riiing.

"AGH! SUNDAYS, people! Ever HEARD of 'em?! You're the Devil's unclipped TOENAIL to the middle-class workforce! WHO-"

The urgent, dull voice of a professional woman comes from the other end. "Mr. Dwayne."

Dwayne scoots a bit forward in his remarkable spinny chair, shoves the phone up to his ear, and grins. "Verm-Tech, Verminator speaking," he speaks low and smooth.

"Excuse me sir, but we have some things to discuss."

Prolonged exposure to the dialer works quickly to remove comprehension in Dwayne's ears. Upon recognizing the distinctly boorish tone, he rolls his eyes and slouches back in his swivel chair. "Well if it's an animal problem, that's gonna require extra bribing measures," he informs. "Our place doesn't run overtime on your stale dialogue, Ms. Wright."

"This isn't about AN animal problem. This is about the animal problem."

"Mmm-hmm." The tip of a black pen tap-tap-taps carelessly on the flat, gray surface of his desk, producing repeated, high-pitched clicks far more preferable than painful lullaby through a speaker. "And what seems to be the issue?"

"They took the wagon, Mr. Dwayne," Ms. Wright explains, a peeved growl subtle as though it had slipped through gritted teeth.

"Look lady." Small cell phone pulled out in one hand, Dwayne manages to maintain the attentive listening skills gravely challenged by the telephone propped up against his ear by a shoulder. "I'm not in on your codewords. If they threw a monkey in the woodchipper, why don't ya go ahead 'n send that monkey my best wishes."

"The WAGON!" she fumes. "At the Jeffersons'!?"

It clicks. It all clicks. 'All' meaning the one glorious reminder of the red wagon left out to dry. "Aaaaahhhh, the wagooon!" Though his eyes still ponder. "Coulda just said THAT."

"So where are you?!"

"I'm on breaaak!" he snaps, arms spread like a haughty eagle. "A good Verminator knows a job well done needs sleep, a balanced breakfast of powdered toast, and a reliable therapist to wash down with. It's how you ease the pain of havin' your butt on a seat for hours on end!"

"Mr. Dwayne…" She raises her voice to ensure an attentive audience. "I have received 3 complaints of YOUR doing in the past 2 weeks."

Arm propped over the back rim of the spinny chair, Dwayne's lips were carelessly smooched out, apathetic eyes locked on a finger paddling down on a little cell phone. The boxy telephone, speakers smushed against the desk, directs her voice at an aimless target. The words lose meaning. Just as the solid surface absorbed all details out of the foundational, sharp tone, Dwayne's ears neglect more of the collateral picked up from the escaping soundwaves.

"At the Conners'..." she lists. "...you received a complaint about the installation of 'questionable devices' in their upstairs bathroom."

Half his focus remains on the scrolling of his finger, the rest barfed out as a half-hearted response: "Now settle down ma'am, I've deftly reassured the Conners that the ONLY thing that Aquaface Sensor's gonna zap to bits are vermin under 15 pounds. Their infant JUST passed the mark."

"At the Bradleys'..." she continues without acknowledgement. "...they had reported 5 broken pieces of china, AND a substantial rip in their living room couch."

Dwayne scratches the good spot on his back.

"And at the Jeffersons'... they had complained about a broom-shaped indent on their basement door… among all else."

Dwayne sleeps, snorting from the bent-up tip of his nose on the desk alongside a snore.

"Mr. Dwayne."

Struggling to lift himself back up, his cheek is barely kept sturdy by a fist. He speaks through the line again with a deep grudge formed: "Verminator, Verm-Tech speaking."

"I need something explained."

"Great," he mutters to himself. "I'm the Sandman's next-in-line."

"I am not concerned with the animals," she states. "I'm concerned with the people. So..." A beat could practically be heard from a heavy drum. "WHY have you received more complaints than RESULTS?"

Dwayne stares out the window, frown sloped below miserable eyes. "See, back in my beloved hometown of Houston, we teach a reliable real-world skill called 'basic arithmetic'." Using fingers, he demonstrates: "1 animal equals... gooood! My traps catch 'em on the daily. 10 animals equals... noooot so good." But his apathy swings around on a whim to reflect the ball of accusations kicked his way. "Ma'am, YOU said we're here to slow 'em dooown, not catch 'em. You're gettin' your results, and I'm makin' my living."

A jarring level of intensity blows the cap of her head off in an explosion. "My results mean NOTHING when YOU'RE damaging more homes than THEY'D-!"

"What'd you call for again?" Dwayne now questions, unmoved by the sharp stabs into his eardrums.

She clears her throat. "Originally, it was about the wagon. Now we need to talk about the new place."

"Ooohhh brother…" he groans. "I'm not liable for the ensuing snore-fest." Stacking a clumped mess of papers neatly together on the dead center of his desk, he's forced to recite:

"'Our newest, grandest Verm-Tech HQ has been recently established/expanded from our old neighboring location just northeast of El Rancho Camelot Estaaates, now housing a hub of our operations across all towns in the Chesterton area, with specific exterminators assigned/occupied with each dispatched location.'"

From the parking lot past the main entrance doors and down the stone staircases, diverged by the exterminator figurine on a pedestal between, the bold white text on the large black title tag at the corner of Dwayne's desk announced who was in charge. He takes 2 fingers and flips it around. 'AMBASSADOR'. It took away the fanatic-implied obsession associated with a wall of hooked, color-coded keys close by, and intimidated a hypothetical subject of newfound knowledge.

"'Our Verm-Tech ambassador of the Chesterton area, Dwayne LaFontant'… that's me, heh… '...manages/oversees all exterminator operations. Although no exterminators can be made available at the moment, we will be assigning more exterminators to the Chesterton Verm-Tech HQ in direct response to a request addressing the planned 2007 expansion of the suburbs by Ms. Wright.' Now…"

He flips papers. The lady remains silent. The only thing left on Dwayne's line was hope for the presence of the other. Though the ensuing firmness in the mess of text brightens the hanging lights above, attentive to what any sane human being ought to be not.

"'Please keep in mind, our additional dispatched exterminators are backups - backup exterminators are those generally applied as a last resort and are STILL in training... Their recruitment in the neighborhood will be their first on-site experience. The backups are scheduled to arrive IN July following the projected completion of the 2007 suburban expansion.'"

His own monologue works against him for the first documented occurrence in history - irony presses the fat of his chin down on a hand, giving him the blubber of a seal.

"Nooowww, 'Verm-Tech Industries is not responsible for damage and/or destruction to the customer's residence; IN case of significant damage and/or destruction inflicted on public property, consider contacting your local authorities and/or contacting our main office to report misconduct from one of our employees. In this case, only the employee shall pay responsibility for criminal charges, not the customer employING their service. Our main office may be contacted via phone, mail, e-mail, your wallet, and all things in between. For more information, consider consulting our customer service website to seek guidance/assistance on our service.'"

The words spill out faster and faster, accelerating in the momentum of its exit courtesy of the massive sigh of relief clogged underneath the dump. "Yada-yada, blar blar blar." He flicks a hand in jest, that sigh clearing his airway to allow self-humor to revitalize his skin. "Just a buncha legal flim-flam. Y'know, we ain't workin' with estates here."

"What's the cost?" is the woman's first instinctive query.

"And THAT'S where things get choppy, ma'am," he declares, the cushiony seat of the swivel chair pressured by a taller posture. "We're upgrading."

She remains intrigued. "Upgrading what?"

"Everything," he relays like the exigence a computer would be transmitted by the click of a mouse. "New tech, pre-installed and post. Fatten up those pockets while you can…"

On its side is a short, black tripod stand of intricate structure, the recurring instance of a limp net sentry mounted on top like a telescope plastered white. The red light didn't shine from the rectangular headpiece, staring deadly out the front windows, rid of function. Clusters of thin, stringy material still loaded remain hidden in the lightless interior of the shaft, compressed springs only restrained by tiny latches threatening to unleash in calmness.

"Here at Verm-Tech, it's our guarantee that we'll FIND a way to make you spend more money… 'til ya won't need to spend none at all." A golden plaque high on the left wall's corner, adjacent to the glass, reflects a degraded tint of the gibbous moon, mixed into the metallic gleam of solidified dignity and respect. The constitution reads itself, Dwayne serving as the medium.

As a leg kicks over a knee, the loose base underneath the chair spins him 'round back to the desk. "Now excuse me ma'am, the Verminator's got some fans to attend to."

A pose for the camera on the phone in his hand adds a dash of grace to his ascent from the chair. The telephone having been glued onto his ear by this point, he waltzes about the office. A pair of thick brown shelves are attached to the diagonal back wall, every gadget lying dormant in the display. "It's real busy havin' thousands of followers on a social media platform."

It was no reassurance to Ms. Wright's solemn ears, hidden behind a blonde dome. "What about the wagon?"

The rack holds unseen devices, left in unrecognizable forms by the discrete lack of lighting separating the corner from the bulk of the room. Chaotic shapes and maniacal mechanics made the laboratory of a mad scientist, trials kept in secret to further the push for the paragon of a concoction revolutionary in its freakish capabilities. A broad tube-like tool, otherwise having an outward appearance of extreme durability, was dented by the teeth marks of an average squirrel. The succeeding design had been armored by a set of metal pads.

Dwayne takes up a confident stance at a strangely-shaped contraption in particular with 4 circular frames making up the legs of the small machine, each holding an inactive propeller. "Oh, no worries…" His fat finger plants onto the faint outline of a red button atop its body while he devilishly completes his assurance: "I reckon our darling little runts must be preppin' for a lot more on the agenda…"

A tiny red glow comes from the center of the body, with all 4 propellers revving up to blow slight winds onto Dwayne.

A galling man. Insulting the very foundation our society had maintained since the dawn of civilization. Those animals might as well be tearing the Hedge down with the wide wagon they're trampling through. The raccoon and turtle occupy themselves shoving the other around, to no defined objective. Her concealing sunglasses remain stubborn on her face in the darkness that ensues from flicking her head back from the scenery. Snapping the flip phone shut, she trudges back out front.

Concealed within an unlit room at a computer desk, she huffs to let her head fall into her hands. Only the blue light of a screen reveals any vague detail present on her, though the desk itself remained sufficiently visible. Crumpled papers all around could spark concern to one who also saw the bulletin board on the wall connecting a collection of surveillance photographs on a frenzied web.

"I'm getting nowhere with this…" she groans.

She reaches for the mouse and clicks a blue button on the screen.

"There has to be… more sustainable ways…"

From the spotless printer next to her laptop, the photo comes slugging out. She snatches it and slams it onto the desk, exposing surveillance of the animals working to grab the wagon on the patio, fuzzy from savage gestures hindering the camera's performance.

"That'd even he'd listen to."

There comes a screech of tires from outside the window on the right.

"What now?"

She jerks down the blinds. Following the panicked honk of an oncoming car, the headlights remove a golden rabbit, jumbled tufts of fur on its body, from the danger zone. It stumbles back to the edge of the street, back deathly startled by the hard curb.

Bursts of air pump from his lungs out his nose lower than the tectonic plates of the earth could emit on their endless, rocky roads. The curb on the opposite end of the silent river, past invisible, violent rapids thrusting massive cars downstream in a boast of power, meets the ground-level of his sights. Flick left. Flick right. The white waters of the black pavement halt both parallel flows to allow him to cross in the dead of night. Breaths jerk out louder and sharper, hops thumping his head up and down to distort the perception of the environment. Closing the distance only means what was large becomes larger, telephone poles bending back in the corners of his sight as they intrude on the radial space of no entrance around his shaky self.

He wobbles on 2 feet up the closest driveway in front of the grassy, damp patch he had safely secured himself onto, a raggedy, depleted can of carrot slices in his arms. His open mouth half-heartedly takes up the job of providing life to the pumping heart shoving out at his particularly furry chest. Against the white garage door is where he tosses the can away and grips open paws onto the flat surface behind his sides.

A headlight above uncovers a scrawny form, fully enlightened with a rich golden hue awkwardly drawing attention from the neutral palette painting the closest scenery in proximity. The color lacked the feral messiness of one unacquainted to this world, though also absent from his neck was a red collar to be expected. A faint patch of white drizzled down from underneath his stout chin to the front of his stub of a tail like cream on ginger. Ears were stuck straight up, alert to any sign of life intruding on his own.

Then the patio invites him on the left.

Big hops take him up the 2 steps onto the suspended patio. He makes his way, flopping those enlarged feet of his over the dark wood, leaving thumps in his wake. The boards mark his path to the corner of the fence making the perimeter of the platform, thin poles of the same material incremented underneath the railing above the edge. Each passes by like jail bars, trapping him on the outer rim of a warm place of homeliness. Bushes and decorative, luscious plantlife lined the exterior below, lavish leaves sticking up over the height of the platform. Elevated higher up than the platform was the flowerbed of red and blue distancing the blank, lifeless bridge from the magnificent yellow walls of the bright house on the right. An awkward border was conjoined by the overhang 'round the corner, now treating him to the floral, artistic doorway blocking the portal into a lamp-lit nook. He gasps at the beauty of the artificial flowers wrapped around the entrance. Red, yellow, purple, and all magnificence in between.

There's a tiny rectangular box, impertinent enough to not make itself any prominent for any visiting bunny to notice. The slim brown button waiting on the center, fit for a human finger, fits just as well for a front paw. The rabbit's subtle eyebrows squeeze down on his full green eyes at the doorbell halfway up the rim - a million times greater in altitude for someone lousy enough to take no extra effort.

One hop strains his arm up, missing the emotionless doorbell by just a rabbit's height.

Two hops slaps the pad of a paw right underneath, flinching the doorbell to no degree.

Three hops satisfies the thing, the pound of a fist on the button producing the pleasureful ding-dong it was begging to release.

At the ring, a peeping creek pulls the door back to have an uncertain elderly couple there to stare down on him. Their wrinkled faces only catch his eye for a brief moment, fractured images past old jeans warming up to his arrival. Such warmth is provided by the crackling fireplace behind thin glass as the visible fragment of a luxurious living room down the entrance hall, tall purple vases of felicias on both sides of the cobbled stone climbing up the wall above the fireplace. A cozy hue tints the already appealing scheme just down the hall. Just down the hall was an empty seat on a circular carpet. Just down the hall was a mushroom cottage in the deep nighttime woods.

The couple looks back at each other, then the rabbit. A polished little platform just beside the doorway held an exterior black lantern to light up welcoming faces leaning outside the bubble locking this world within. A nod and smile by the bald man follows the shaking of frizzled white hair on the other.

A checkered cloth sack tied on a whim, riddled with the fresh scent of organic blueberries, is gifted to the rabbit's feet. Pupils morph into blueberries themselves. Enthralled gratitude gapes open his bottom jaw to fully display bucked teeth ready to dig in. Just down the hall, it was waiting for him.

Anticipation may always be all for nought, as all will learn.

The door is slammed harshly on his flat nose just when he's ready to tiptoe into the realm. It leaves a stinging pain on the front of his face, forcing a stumble backward onto his rear, bending his tail uncomfortably in the process. Just down the hall, the felicia fireplace remained outside his reach.

So he huffs, yanks up the blueberry sack, and carries on.

Trudging back to the sidewalk, he picks up a thick twig lying on the edge of the front yard and hooks the blueberry sack onto the pointed little branches of the twig's own. Covered with moss, the sack-on-a-stick bobs over his shoulder not in a bouncing spree, but in a lumping slog. Each minute he disappears further down the lane, disappears the golden fur into darkness on the back of his lowered head.

The doorbell choirs at an arrival. The door swings open to a golden, fidgety rabbit, one bucked tooth pinching its bottom lip. A faint sign of blueberry residue lined the edges of its mouth. A small clump of lettuce is tossed, and the door slams.

The doorbell rings at an arrival. The door swings open to a golden, unspirited rabbit, shoulders frowned lower than its frown itself. Scraps of lettuce were stuck onto the blueberry juice around its mouth. A carrot is tossed, and the door slams.

The doorbell mutters at an arrival. The door swings open to a golden, pleading rabbit, eyes filled to the brim with dreary despair. An entire salad of a beard on its face was made of carrot crumbs, lettuce scraps, and dried blueberry blood. A whole apple is tossed, and the door slams.

The doorbell groans at an arrival. The door swings open to a golden, ridiculous rabbit, an entire apple lodged between its jaws like the stuffed pig it was. The door slams, and dust is tossed into his face.

It takes a second to free the shiny, appetizing apple, the ripest in the tree, from his mouth. Indents already left on its skin, he sniffs at it before forcing out one chomp, reluctance tearing a wound in the fresh pick with the equally attractive house now behind his back. A swallow sends the bite down his throat, adding another meaningless bit of energy to the lifeless expression he held. His stomach, though full as ever, was never truly sated, as the occupied spaces within only left hollow ones right above, where it all pumped. One could neglect sustenance for days, but one drop of poison in the blood riddled the whole body of vitality. His hind paws meet the grass, but do not wave nor acknowledge. The apple, a single bite taken, is abandoned with a vengeful toss back to its giver's own kind. He carries on.

His travels bring him to the very edge of the suburbs, where the streetlights dimmed as the Hedge prepared all wanderers for the unknown terrain approaching. A front paw volunteers to survey the barrier, each thin leaf tickling the crevices between hidden nails on the fingers. A glance to the left gives him the side of the closest house, a backyard fenced in by tall wood visible in his sights. A glance to the right gives him the end of the road, red signs barricading in front of the sidewalk connecting both rows, broadcasting tough in silence. Nothing deserves a repeated action - his eyes abandon the sights right then and there.

No birds chirp. The lit front porches compensated for the dead, hopeless places surrounding him. On the flipside, branches of towering trees and wild flowers blow in the breeze - more life than front doors coded to slam in response to any stimulant. A foot tests the waters, dipping into the leaves, where an unexpected abundance of hollow space allows for easy access between 2 hemispheres. He picks up a gulp and leans the rest of his body forward.

BARK!

The gunshot escaping a large mutt's gullet pierces his right ear, launching him to the side from the sudden impact. Across the calmest end of the concrete river, the black beast, caged behind a silver gate on the gap between the house opposite him and the Hedge, pelts him with its shots. A cloud above blocks out the moon. Sinister darkness shrouds a menace, the rabbit only tripping farther and farther from frantic wobbles backwards. Hollars spewing out make for the only audible presence of speech in him, though unpreferred in panicked delivery. The fence rattles furiously from the dog's rage, shoving its force into his chest to knock him over his back at the corner of the nearest driveway.

A softer material pillows his head rather than rock. But the defined shape makes 5 bumps underneath, too firm to be a pillow itself.

The plump man standing behind him, gray pants leading up from the black sneakers resting the head of a golden, traumatized rabbit, takes him slowly into arms. Being lifted to the heavens, all muscles in his body flinch and squirm at contact, but quickly freeze into no reaction. It might as well have been plastered on his forehead: 'If you don't know what to do, don't do anything.' His back ignores the sweatiness of the fat fingers housing him, as any house was a house to cherish.

At eye level, the rabbit gets a chance to look upon the rescuer. Skin comparable to the white shirt underneath a dark green jacket, the man's untamed face puzzles at the bulky lump it held high, no real organization present in his dark brown hair.

It was at this elevation that the rabbit discovers the capability, the new perspective that just a few feet could bring - the elevation of the doorbells he had rung, and the mountains of houses approached. This place in particular sparked a little grudge in his face with its simplicity: a standard rectangular shape, white on all exterior walls, and roofed by red-brown bricks touching the sky he was now a few feet closer to. No detail, but full of potential. It processes in his brain, making more of a positive impression on his countenance than first suggested. This house was a blank canvas.

The man still stares at the stunned, homeless thing.

It hesitates to present itself, a rabbit's voice, in the removal of the solid brick wall sheltering from the shadowy world. An idle breath knocks every brick out of place, forcing a gawky backwards force, puny as it is, to confront the bypasser. No one expects a mute to speak. But every factor of stupefaction is undermined by the unshaved timidness heard in one's first words to the world, that level carrying along with it a hint of enthusiasm to the enlarged hands building a new home for the rabbit.

"Uhh… g'day?"

The arms yank him up the driveway, leaving no time for more.

When all but the image of a front porch fades away, the lamp over the door plays the constant buzz fighting a horde of crickets for dominance of the ears. Neither overtakes the battlefield, at least livening the black void trapping the house on all sides, diving underneath the porch.

Bwah bwah bwah?

A lump of white and brown lay curled up on the bottom step - a mossy plank, which only hardly assured anyone of a safe carriage. Hoppy awakes as a fluffy cupcake on a broken window. The ambient conversation murmuring soullessly from above eases apart the outlines of her sockets, releasing violet tones from protection.

From between front paws her head rises on its own accord, pulled by a string. The old house it has her face doesn't respond further than the crooked lamp bent over pitifully. Light abandoned halfway past its length and height, only showing a structure that had just half a body leaving her hopeless. Was this real? It doesn't take a second glance to define the obvious. Somehow, though, it projected the opposite of a fantasy. There appeared no dream, but no reality… perhaps that's all reality was.

Her paws don't falter in the way her mind did. They take her climbing the height of a thousand steps morphed into one, landing her at the ragged mat before the chipped surface of a red door. Just a crack of dark space answers her call between the crevice, crawling out of place to allow her entry.

At the mindless nerve of her limbs to drag her inside, the doorknob jerks violently before pressing the door into place in the wall. Shooting uncontrolled shocks into her spine, her back shoves herself into the center of a static dome not large enough to visualize any characteristics of the room keeping her contained. Familiar, fancy shoes and the clomping of high heels trample the hard floor. The more and more the tall figures exit from obscurity into her radius, the shorter she shrinks. Clomping grows louder. Static follows along. Drowned out in a short space separating her from the humans, the only thing she can hear of herself is accelerating breaths, drowning out all other inner thoughts itself.

Bwah?

Bwah bwah bwah.

Coming to surround her is a deep, derpy voice travelling from a vague locale, manifesting a constant image flickering in her mind. "Hoppy?"

Her sore throat left no words a chance to breathe, lips quivering. She frantically searches the empty place. Back at the door where she had entered, her shadow is standing motionless, a completely separate entity from herself. No source of light builds a bridge on the floor to connect them. But as she finds herself growing closer, and the static fading, her shape bleeds in black across the ground.

The shadow duplicates her movement without the emotion her face displayed: a front paw leaves its post, lifted to extend out, reaching for the other being. And the arms merge at first contact, and blank space leaves only air to be felt as she continues farther, and the shadow repeats, and they come close to the body with the shadow's face staring lifeless back at her, and just then there's a wall of solid fur that jolts a bullet backwards through her arm. A paw presses firm against her own chest. Her lungs shrivel. She blacks out.

…

A lump of brown and white lay pleasantly rested in a new landscape - thin hairs of a bright green field could nest everyone as comfortably as it nurtured her. No clouds filled clear skies, and no darkness consumed the endless brightness over the horizon.

From between front paws, Hoppy's eyes are tickled by the sun's rays. Rolling across the earth tenderly, she comes onto her back to lift her sleepy body up and restore joyous energy to fatigued limbs. A blank world greets her. The breeze blows across the hairs atop her head. While the sun gives every blade of grass a shadowy friend to accompany them, she receives none; damp mud patches left in lonesome the imperfections present in herself, soaked in reality.

"Where-?" Her lips snap shut, unnervingly muted by a gush of consciousness filling her brain with the life of a lightbulb. A gasp makes up for the startlement. "I've been bestowed with speech!"

A wiggle of the tail. A flop of the ears. Her experimental queries all return positive, responding to the impulses all in her control.

"Wait, is this a lucid dream?" she questions the existence before her, the sound of her voice in an obscure medium funny as it was. "Am I lucid dreaming?" The reality of fantasy brings her to laugh. "Because I've NEVER had a lucid dream-"

"They say LIFE is a lucid dream, fair lady Hoppy!" is what would seem to be a grand showman manning a megaphone, resonating distinctly independent from her discovered capabilities.

She whips around to face the faceless face of one sharing identical form and size, entirely encased in shadow. "That's an astounding reference, Mr. Shady!" Now, her silhouette twin has her pondering. "Wait, you look just like me. Except you're not. Well, kinda. But not really."

He stops her. While the perception of fur on his extended arm remained, it lacked all texture. From all angles, she could only make him out as a flat image in a world with infinite dimensions. No depth. But from all angles, his shape fit the scene flawlessly. Like an optical illusion of folded origami. Unquestioning of what she found no coherent answer to, Shady raises his arms in a broad formation. "I am only a figment of your... IMAGINAAATIONNN!"

-TIONNN!

-TIONNN!

-TIONNN

Her eyes insist on being mesmerized by the endless landscape making them the city square in the middle of nowhere. "Soooo, do we have a ride around this place? Like a car," she lists. "Or a boat, or a traaain, or a unicycllle, or a-"

"WE have something better!" He throws his front paws down at the longer hind paws barely distinguishable from a colorless body. "FEET!"

"There's FEET in lucid dreams too?!" she gasps. This place's the best!"

"Right you are!" That's when cloudy golden boots wrap perfectly around Shady's hind paws, weaving back on his legs and sprouting a rainbow in the abyss. The same comes to Hoppy's, forming nice and snug in a pillow of shining cotton, like establishing common ground between one with their shadow. Shady wiggles the little puffball of a tail to her. "So shake that tail, and hop the trail!"

As he speeds on, twinkling sparks of gold fall in a yellow breadcrumb path for Hoppy to follow along to the wonderful land awaiting their arrival.

To her surprise, no sense of traction comes to her feet with a hop. But they were nowhere near numb. In fact, they were alive as they ever were. It made the only thing felt inside not the pumping of blood through veins, nor the fatiguing of muscles - it's the absorption of soul into mind; the rejuvenation of a jelly donut's filling.

She's here.

Her open smile widens bit by bit. The next hop takes her a farther distance. Then farther. Farther! Soon, she reaches a pace that gets her closer to Shady, still guided by the stardust breadcrumbs. Her feet land over and over on cotton candy, the dirt expected underneath the grass not expressing any physical disturbance to her possibilities in this limitless realm.

Racing up to hop beside him, she bobs up and down, spirit full as mind. "Say, where's our stop, Mr. Shady?"

Just then, their path leads them atop a fractured road of sapphire bricks, blue as the surface of the sea; reflections make corners as carefree as the noon sky. "All golden roots lead to the Thonking Stem!" he explains.

"The 'Thonking Stem'?"

"When you think you thunk a thought, plant the seed and grow a forest!"

"'Plant the seed'. 'Plant the seed'," she repeats, tense muscles concentrating energy into the steps. "Ohhhhh, plant the seed! Of course!" Eyelids glued shut, the clinking of the crystal surface stops along with her. "I'm think-thonkiiin'... III'm think-thonkiiin'..."

From her boots, a seed bursts into golden roots stretching far up the road. More vivid surroundings form, completing what had admittedly been a dull environment - so many dreams of thriving ideas that all potential scenery could be left up to the interpretation of one's own imagination. Colorful visions made a kingdom. Plots of land left awaiting similar treatment were few. Arching rainbows line the skyline. The sun itself remained speechless to what one thought had created; many more left waiting to be freed.

Shady's paw scales the world. "Take a look, Hoppy."

Every vague image flying around her brain, pounding at the walls for escape, takes formation right in its place at an eye's peeking pleasure. But once they open, they don't stop - Hoppy's countenance goes wide in astonishment, taken aback by a grand paradise she could only see without sight. The roots pump vibrant colors out to floating islands of layered cakes, rainbow waterfalls pouring from the stratosphere, urban skyscrapers roofed by flowering red balloons… anything, really! A tumbling crash comes from afar. Off in the distance, a cold, snowy peak had risen prideful among temperate lands. Massive, clumped snowballs of strawberries, even distinguishable from a hundred miles, bounce and roll from a mountain piercing into the heavens. They come down in droves, animated in opposition to the black-and-white cartoon the restriction of her mind could process at most.

"Is that a… strawberry avalanche?" her breathless speech utters.

"What else?" Shady chuckles.

Taking the longest gasp in the world, she whispers, "I love that song!…"

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg! Follow meeeee!"

Shady continues the brick road. What's stopping her? She just laughs and hops right along.

The sapphires still gleam strongly under their boots. At last, Hoppy's immersion in her creations are no longer restricted to the eyes - getting up to scale beside flowing chocolate rivers running nonsensically down towering, tasty hills absorbs her mesmerized ears in sound her mind couldn't hear alone. Shady guides her through her imagination, traversing an irresistible forest roofed by diamond clouds.

However, as the mountains around get steeper and the sky darker, their golden glowing boots still prevail. They reach the darkest end. A deep canyon separates them from another mountain range with ordinary peaks stabbing into ordinary clouds. It made a hideously dull piece poisoning an enchanting whole, a drop of dye clouding the clarity of the water. The roots created from her feet, branching out to embrace every sight prior, crawled into the abyss. They never came out.

Nothing but silence ensues once she dares to tip her head over the edge, wobbling back at a dizzy realization.

Shady expresses none of her immediate concern in his posture, rubbing front paws together. Bending low and using the telekinetic force of tense hands, he lifts the mountains right off of their bases, shaking the earth to reveal the sunny field returning on the other side, so bright that whatever lies beyond remains obscured. They stay put in the air, granting free access past what anyone would see as a clear obstacle. The imagination declined.

Despite his impressive display, the dead gap remains. Hoppy doesn't budge.

Nonetheless, he leaves the fissure to her company. "Put trust in your imagination. It will show you what you cannot see, and leave you waiting to see more. So see it!"

She stands. Stares. The deepest pit in the world, and a hind paw hesitates to step without intending to land. But trust she puts. So trust is what she receives from the boot over hind paw, splashing into an unseen puddle floating above as delicately as a flower touching the water. As her weight sinks further in, the toes spread wider on a solid bridge of thought invisible to the eyes, but very much present beyond restricting expectations. Her other back leg boasts the same result, claiming the threatening pit for team Hoppy.

"Ah!" In every glance down, she's soaring in the atmosphere. Lingering above death itself. She's a still image in the event of disaster, rounded knees trembling and tail pointed up as a frizzled bush. She feels her jaws lock up by a hinge, bottom one drug down by the gravity sparing the rest of her free body. "Ah-ha-ha! I'm alive!" Feet skip one after another, rippling the pond she rushes across to the end of the canyon. "A-haaaa! I. AM. InVINCIBLLLE-!"

Oh, if only it were so easy. The mountains just so happen to make their anticipated return back to the earth as she participates in a 100 meter sprint underneath, crashing down to flatten her. Shady doesn't react with his nonexistent eyes, but just walks across himself, producing dreamy puddles in the same fashion.

"Mountains!" he commands at the base of the stone. "Part."

Rumble.

"Don't talk back to me!" he warns.

Rumble rumble.

Finally, the huff of judgement arrives. "Hoppy, remove these mountains from our sight please."

"Thonk-a-donk!"

A large gap in the range crumbles to pieces on top of her, disappearing in a massive cloud of dust to unveil the sunny destination once again. Squished into the ground, Shady walks up and grabs her ears, flopped out far to the sides, and stretches her up into solid form at last.

Everywhere she pats all over herself, cool pads meet unscathed fur. Astonishment overcomes her soul. "I am invincible!"

The sapphire path resumes into a field seemingly returning to home base - tall patches of light grass, though now absent were any mud puddles. Heavenly radiance blinds Hoppy's sight ahead… and a glistening of blue peeks into the corner of her eye. Converging roads join their own spanning the land ahead. Many roads. The golden roots grown between them, and around, and behind all possible lanes grow thicker from sources spanning into the far horizon.

That's when the light makes way.

The grand chocolate fountains on both sides of the base's walls, heads carved into majestic whales, pour cocoa waterfalls down into sweet, savory pools. An entire city squeezed itself into the formation of a house in the sky, carrot-shaped towers varying in dimensions and color built up inside the perimeter like building block rooms connected by thin exterior corridors. They float higher and higher into the atmosphere as towering branches of one mother tree, crystallized salad rooftops absorbing the love of the sun atop the wide ends of the carrots. That's right, no physical limitations hold this homely home back - the base itself stayed suspended from the ground, uneven platforms meeting at the front entrance level with the earth, blocked by 2 massive stroopwafel discs making a vault out of a trip to the flipside. All the while, 2 circular red pillows, lined by gold, floated around the exterior on either side of the door. What's a marvelous feat of an engineering miracle is just another day's work in the imagination.

"Wo-ah!" The magnificence felt twinkling in the center of her pupils trips her back over herself. "Why, why... this surely can't be your house, Mr. Shady!" Somehow she almost hesitates, squeezing out a quirky crumb of excitement. "Is it?"

"Why, YEEEEEESSS!" announces Shady.

Something once overshadowed by all else justifies that status to her: a sad, overseeing stem stretching far over the center of the house's main square, twisted and dull green, almost unhydrated. Atop was a white flower… devoid of any petals plucked from its sagging self. The Thonking Stem. A dead, dead Thonking Stem.

"Oh my!" she blurts, a jet of breath yanked out of her. That depressing image of a flower with no color prints itself as a tattoo on her eyes. "But-! There's no petals!"

Glowing essence flows through golden roots strung in a web of wires. "How about you grow some?"

They lead from underneath up into the floating base of the flower, the organic stem pulsing and transforming into gold at every thought flowing out of her mind. Its hope powers her, waves to her, and asks her for more. That link grows intensely through the support of the passionate roots expanding out of her boots to join in on the effort.

"I'll think-thonk harder than I've ever thonk a thunk," she whispers, full of intent.

She just keeps watching, absorbed in the show. Every pulse now reaches the petalless flower, thumping into its heart more and more vitality. And more roots sprout and disperse from her boots as freed fireflies do, returning home to join the others. Suddenly, something erupts from the top of the barren flower: just a glittering, sapphire tip poking its way out the flower's center to rise as the highest peak over the land. But as it fully nurtures, the rigid crevices and teardrop shape come to life. Plump at the bottom, it makes no grand entrance nor presentation. A seed. A sapphire seed. Peculiar.

Her mind sees no deformity that her eyes may, body leaning up tall and proud in a wholehearted grin at her newest bloom.

Shady nods to her in applause, approaching the front door. She finds herself copying his footsteps. On either side they take post below the floating pillow pedestals. Their golden boots give them the leaping power to bounce like springs onto assigned plates, an invisible mirror perfectly dividing their synchronized motions down the middle.

As the pillows slowly descend to the ground, the pair of stroopwafels diverge from the center, uncovering the grand entrance inside. Hoppy is left in awe as she wanders to the center of the doorway. Together they introduce themselves to the elegant entrance hall, stretching miles across a patterned carpet. And the wonders get more wonderful as the hall expands. Floating paintings orbiting the area perform a show for Hoppy to enjoy, the images themselves portraying a feast for her mind.

"It's… it's…!"

She spots the magnificent purple fur pillow resting on a jumbo couch.

"Oh goodie glee!" She's definitely hit her gasping quota now, in case she hadn't one gasp ago. "When'd you ever get such a wonderful fur pillow, Mr. Shady?"

Presented beside it is another of blue. "When I needed 2 fur pillows, of course! Like a try?"

"DO I!"

A leap sends her soaring through the limitless air to hug both fur pillows in the snug grasp of her arms.

VROOM VROOM, VROOOOOM!

SCREEEEEE- CRASH!

A startling shatter of headlights breaks apart all that was built, and all that was free from the roaring engines of monstrous cars on the TV across her. They flip and fly over mud, colliding and crashing together to comply with reality's rules. They don't soar; they don't break from only what the world told them to do. They listened.

Hoppy jolts awake on the recliner, chin squished on fur pillows barely wrapped between short arms. Her side crushed the remote ages ago. The flashlight had died off, leaving Mr. Shady's presence uncertain.

"Hmph, they've always got the demolition derby after the cooking shows."

She scolds away the unavoidable disturbance, at least capable of drowning it away into darkness by the click of a button.

"It really demolishes…" A yawn heaves out her gaping mouth. "...a good night's sleep…"

As her mind fades away back into slumber, the remote slips off the curved edge of the cushion and onto the carpet below.