An Easter Story

“Essentially the peeps defected, sire.”

“The bunnies or the chicks?”

“Both.  The chicks went first.”

“To where?”  HRR was shrouded in shadow but his voice was clearly annoyed.

“Christmas, mainly.”  The advisor cleared his throat nervously.

“Is nothing sacred?”  HRR stamped the floor, a resounding angry thud that echoed through the chamber.  

“Yes.  I mean, no Your Majesty.  Apparently not.”  The advisor looked vaguely ill.  “Uh...”

“There’s more?”

“One or two notes, ah, more.  Yes.”  

“Get it over with.”

“The hollow bunnies are on strike.”

“Wha--!  Why?”

“They’ve been demanding filling but, well... at any rate, they’re striking until caramel concessions can be made.”

“We have eggs for filling!”

“The bunnies feel unfairly maligned by the eggs.  They protest that they can do as good a job as the eggs if not better.”

“Uhhgggghhh.”  HRR buried his face.  “I hope that’s it.”  His voice was muffled.

“Well...”  The advisor fidgeted.


“There was a bit of an uprising.  A small, er, fracas if you will.”

“Between who?”

“The jellybeans and the mini eggs.”


“A bit of what you might call a battle, I guess, all things considered.”

“Over what?”

“Dominance of the small oblong sugar market.”

“................. who won?”  HRR bit back several other things that came to mind and asked the obvious instead.

“The jellybeans.”

“And the mini eggs are...?”

“Annihilated, mostly.  Some fled and are being sheltered by the turkish delight.”

“How many jellybeans were lost?”

“All the yellow, half the blue, a good portion of pink, scatterings of purple and green.  It’s not good.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“The solid bunnies are still, if you’ll forgive the pun, thick as thieves.  Unbreakable really.  Sturdy.  Concrete.”

“I won’t forgive it.  Give yourself five lashes later.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  The advisor hung his head.  

“Is there anyone else left?”

“The creme eggs, of course.  They’re very loyal.”

“This is not good.”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t have enough to complete The Hunt.”

“Likely not, Your Majesty.”

“I really didn’t want it to come to this but I’m afraid I have no choice.”

“Back up?”



“Who else has the manpower to spare?”

“Candy corn?”  

“Lord no.  See if the solid wrapped pumpkins will come.  And check with the black and orange jellybeans.  If they’ll agree to leave the surviving mini eggs alone and work with us, we can use them.”

“I’ll get right on it, Your Majesty.”  The advisor bowed low and backed to the door where he waited with respectfully downcast eyes.  HRR stood and smoothed his chest hair pensively.  He hopped slowly off the dais.

“Do you think it’s salvageable?”

“I do hope so, Your Majesty.”

“If we fail they might... look elsewhere.”  HRR furrowed his brow.  “You know, for another meaning.”

“Surely not, sire.”

“Indeed.”  He straightened, drew a breath, and nodded to the advisor.  The advisor threw open the door of the Throne Hutch and thousands of eyes turned in unison.

“The Singular, the Distributor, His Royal Rabbit, the Easter Bunny!”  The advisor swept into a low bow after the announcement as HRR emerged into Good Friday amid thunderous applause.

The End

- Corinne Simpson