Something gleams in the distance as the early morning's sunlight begins to penetrate the distant horizon and the man raises his arms to shield out the glare.

What is it in the distance?

The man lowers his arm and drops his eyes from the horizon, looking again to the rabbit.

Purple, small, the rabbit is an atrocity to reality, and the man is determined to rid the world of this scourge.

Sweat beads his forehead as the man trudges on across the fields, which baffles him: it is winter, and the ground is covered in snow.

The man wears naught but boxer shorts and a trench coat, yet he is uncontrollably hot.

The sudden thought comes to him that he is not quite sure where he came from...

The rabbit is slipping away.

The man abandons his line of thought and resumes his stalking, following the rabbit closely as it approaches the horizon, slowly making its way.

For some reason the man cannot catch the thing, though it moves only at a snail's pace.

The knife...it becomes colder and colder...and the thin line of blood slowly dripping from the tip has started to run out.

The man trudges on.