October 24, 1988

6 days remaining

Karen Pomeroy had once been a great believer of justice. Not the karmic kind, exactly, or the kind practiced by followers of the Just World principle. But she knew, deep down, that everyone usually got what they deserved in the end. Yet almost five years of teaching for this arch-conservative crapheap of a school, and this was her reward?

"I'm sorry, Karen, but we don't think the methods you've undertaken here are appropriate."

Karen shot Principal Cole a heated glare across his desk. "With all due respect, sir, what exactly about my methods do you find inappropriate?" she asked pointedly. It was just as she'd predicted; Cole was a pussy.

"I don't have time to get into a debate about this, Karen. I believe I've made myself clear."

"You call this clarity?" Karen threw up her hands in disgust. "I don't think you have a clue what it's like to communicate with these kids. And we are losing them to apathy, this... prescribed nonsense. They are slipping away."

She tried to inject as much feeling and urgency into her voice as the situation would allow, searching in vain for a crack in Cole's armour of self-delusion. The sounds of him dismissively shuffling papers told her it was futile.

"I am sorry that you have failed. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment. You can finish out the week."

Karen stormed outside. Slammed past the chain-link fence. Roared impotently to the heavens.

"FU-U-U-U-U-UCK!"

...until her throat burned, lungs pleading for mercy. Tears stinging her cheeks. A little gasp behind her. She spun, frozen. Cherita Chen sat on a bench alone, holding a sandwich halfway to her mouth. Eyes wide.

Karen waved. The weather was beautiful. The trees were beautiful. Even Cherita was beautiful today. The world was still a crappy place to live. They both knew it.

Back in the building, Principal Cole made an important announcement over the intercom. "Good afternoon. It gives me great pleasure to announce that the Middlesex Ridge School dance team has been invited to perform on Ed McMahon's Star Search '88 in Los Angeles, California. Congratulations..."

Karen went back inside, grabbing today's copy of the Middlesex Times from the library as she went. Checked to make sure the headline she wanted was there. Took off down the hallway.

Sparkle Motion was surrounded by a group of exultant staff members, the most energetic being Kittie Farmer, who was pumping her scrawny fists into the air. "Yes! Yes! Oh girls, I knew you could..." She stopped when she saw Karen approaching. Eyes frosting over. "Yes? Can we help you-"

Karen coldly flipped the newspaper over. Watched Kittie's expression go from indifference to horror.

The brown rabbit onscreen wore much the same expression Kittie had upon discovering that Jim Cunningham, patron saint of Motivational Speaking, had turned out to be a demon in disguise. Not everybody had heard the news yet, but word was spreading quicker than wildfire. As an English professor, Karen found this comparison deliciously ironic.

For now, she would carry on. No sense in letting her fury communicate itself. This would be her cross to bear. She drifted as her students sat in the flickering silence, riveted to the animated version of 'Watership Down'. Everyone, that is, but Donnie Darko. He was lying with his head on his desk, making no attempts to disguise his fatigue. Gretchen Ross was watching him instead of the movie. Worry crooking her eyebrows.

He opened his eyes when Karen turned the lights back on. Just barely. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was unkempt. He rubbed at his face distractedly as the lesson wore on.

"...And when the other rabbits hear of Fiver's vision, do they believe him?" Karen asked the class. "It could be the death of an entire way of life, the end of an era."

She intended to let that one sink in, but Donnie cut her off. Voice slightly ragged. His demeanour made him look like even more of a delinquent. "Why should we care?" he said, tersely.

Karen paused. She was in no mood for this today. "Because the rabbits are us, Donnie."

"Why should I mourn for a rabbit like it was a human?"

"Is the death of one species less tragic than another?" she retorted. The class roused themselves. Front-row seats. It had been a pretty exciting month so far.

Donnie wouldn't shut up. "Of course it is. A rabbit isn't like us. It has no history books. It has no knowledge of sorrow or regret." He was reckless with his scorn. Gretchen was looking at him like she wanted to slap him, but he was too busy ranting to pay attention.

"...I mean, I like bunnies and all. They're cute, and they're horny. And if you're cute and horny, then you're probably happy! Happy that you don't know who you are, or why you're even alive. But the only thing I've known rabbits to do is have sex as many times as possible before they die."

His voice was unnaturally loud in the closed room. Nobody could think of a way to stop him, so he pressed his point home. "There's no point in crying for a dead rabbit who never feared death to begin with," he finished. Empty eyes glowering.

"You're wrong." Heads turned. To everyone's surprise, it was Gretchen Ross speaking. Weren't those two going together or something? Was this some kind of weird academic lover's spat? Karen knew it cut deeper than that.

"You're wrong about these rabbits," Gretchen continued. "These rabbits can talk. They are the product of the author's imagination. And he cares for them. So we care for them too. We care that their home has been destroyed, and that their lives are in danger. Otherwise we've missed the point."

"But aren't we forgetting the miracle of storytelling?" Karen added. "The deus ex machina. The god from the machine. That is how the rabbits are saved."

Gretchen shot Donnie a dirty look, which everyone in the room noticed but him.

They ran into each other at her locker.

"Hey. You want to skip fourth period and go to the Ridge?"

Gretchen couldn't believe it. She slammed her locker shut, nearly pinning his fingers. "What's wrong with you?" she hissed. Stalked off. Donnie watched her retreating back, collapsing. Went to the Ridge by himself. Imagined he was lying in a bowl made of asphalt, feeling the earth spinning beneath his body. On the lookout for holes in the sky. The universe's last safeguard.