You Can't Cage Hope

I did this as a school project. It was suppose to be something that happened in your life and a lesson you learned.

Letting the morning breeze carry me, I took a step forward. The freshly cut, dew coated grass tickled my bare feet as I walked into my backward. My dad was on the other side of the yard, finishing cutting the grass. The heavy sound of the lawn mower didn’t scare the birds away, who were making beautiful music in the trees, but as lovely as all of that was I blocked it out. I sat in the shadows of a huge oak tree, in my own little bubble, my own little world. I loved to daydream, imagine stuff no one ever imagine, dream things, no one could ever dream. A gentle breeze awoke me from the world that was mine and what happen next was so fast, it was hard to say what was happening.

 

First everything went quiet. My Father quickly turned of the lawn mower, and the birds, all of them, stop chirping. It felt as if everything in the world froze. No small sound was made, and no small movement was seen. Then my dad jumped off the lawn mower and ran to a small dip in the ground less then a foot away then the front tires of the lawn mower. He called for my oldest sister, Samantha, I was young and I didn’t understand what he told her. However I could read reactions very well, and they were worried. My sister came out with a brown bag, nobody notice me, sitting in the dark across the yard, and they both kneeled down by the small dip and lifted something out, that I could not see and carefully set in the bag. Then my sister walked slowly back the door. I fallowed her confused.

 

When she stopped walking we were in the family room, my mom and other older sister, Sabrina, was already in there, with a laundry basket. They were cutting up brown paper bags and cloth, setting them in the basket. Surely I was missing something here, everyone seem to know what was going on but me. Samantha handed the bag to my mother who looked in. One by one she lifted small brown puffballs and set them in the basket. She then saw me standing in the doorway with a more then confused look on my face and beckoned me over. It only took me a few steps to be standing in front of the purple basket.

 

I looked down, but the brown things did not move they were still, strangle scary still. I looked at my mother my face full of fright. She took hold of me and told Sabrina to get some milk and put it in the microwave for 10 seconds, then to bring it back to her with an eyedropper. My sister nodded and in less then a minute she was back. My mom lifted the smallest brown puffball, which I know realized up-close was a baby bunny and put an eyedropper full of warm milk to its tiny mouth. She dripped a couple of drops into its it mouth and put it back in the basket. Then she took the next one and the next doing the same thing as the first. After all the little mouths were fed and full she went into the kitchen for some food.

 

Standing by the basket the whole time, I was the first to see the smallest bunny open his eyes. Slowly all eight of them open their eyes and sixteen eyes were open, and looking at each other. My mother came back and when she saw them she got excited and placed the leafy greens and carrots in the basket. They all started to move around and I could now see how skinny they were. Even though the thick brown fur you could see the bones of each one. Samantha went to tell my dad the good news that the bunnies were up.

 

My mom and dad started talking when he got inside. They did it in hush whispers so I was sure they didn’t mean for us kids to hear. I listened anyway, hearing every word they said while Samantha and Sabrina, and my two brothers, Steven and Skyler who finally found out watch the baby bunnies.

“Are they rabbits okay?” My dad asked.

“They should be fine for now,” my mom answered. “But I don't think they will live. They’re so small and helpless. Also cold, even if they were laying in the sun. Where’s the mother of these poor things?”

He shrugged. “Dead, I guess. It looks as if they were without a mother for a while...” His voice trailed off.

“They shouldn‘t live though the night, I‘m guessing,” she said in even a quieter whisper. “I’m surprise they are alive now!”

 

That was the end of the conversation, I was never meant to hear. The talk about how our baby bunnies were not suppose to live that they all were going to die. Sad and heartbroken I looked down at the eight fuzz-balls. All of them seemed okay for now, I thought to myself, of course they well live though the night.

 

Going to bed that night I was happy and sure all the bunnies were going to be there when I woke up the next morning. But when I stood by the basket the next day I only saw seven. Soon the numbers got smaller. Six bunnies, five, four, three, and then when the week was over we were left with two. How could they be dying they were being taken care of and loved. I didn’t know who to blame for this so I blamed everyone. I blamed the bunnies for not being stronger, I blamed their mother, whoever or wherever she was or may be, for not taking care of them, and I blamed my family for not taking better care of them and letting them die.

 

By the next week we only had one bunny, the smallest one of the bunch there was. He was only two weeks old but he was big! He was already half the size of a full-grown rabbit and the basket was getting small for him. He didn't have a name, he was just bunny or he or it, in my brother’s case. I heard my mom and dad talk about letting him go, but I wasn’t worried about that, they wouldn’t let my bunny go.

 

The next day they sat all five of us children down in the family room to tell us they were going to let the bunny go. We complained and cried anything to let them keep the bunny but they said no. I couldn’t be there when they let him go so I went to my bedroom instead. I sat there on the bed, cross-legged and crying. My mom came into the room and I knew that the bunny, my bunny was gone.

 

She sat next to me and then gave me a half hug. I knew she was trying to make me feel better I couldn’t my bunny was gone.

“Sarah do not cry.” She told me. “The bunny is going to be okay.” I sobbed and shook my head. She thought for a second then she spoke again. “If we kept him here all caged up he would’ve died like the others. He had hope and you can’t cage hope.”

 

Thinking about she said once I stop crying I learned a lesson. It’s not always what you want but what's best. I knew the bunny was going to be safe and okay, I even saw him every morning, in my backyard. He had gotten much bigger and he was happier I could tell. I could walk up to him but I never touch him and he never ran. I now realize if we never let him go he would’ve killed his only chance of surviving and he would have died. Because of what we did he is now living and safe. You can’t cage hope, because hope cannot survive in a cage.

Author's Note

What do you think?

Yes my real name is Sarah.. but my online name is Morning and that is the name I like best.

Reviews

[Minnow]

What you say is so true. You can't cage hope. I read all your writing Morning and your a great writer :) ! See you on Cloudclan!

[cilla]

Morning ... you are extremely talented and a natural story teller. The world seen through your eyes is a very interesting place where we can all learn and grow.

Please continue to nurture your gift and share your stories.

[Kathryn Star, Shine!]

Wow, what an inspiring story. Not only does this gem have morals, values and ethics, but it has the winning prize of the meaning of hope. However, wherever there is strength, there is always hope, even if caged. The world has seens this time and time again. I loved your story. Great insight. ks