Fucking kids. Fucking goddamn kids. Fucking goddamn bitch as kids. What in God’s name did I do in a past life to live out the rest of my days with fucking god damn bitch ass snot-nosed kids?

Oh yeah.

Oh yeah, I remember now. How could I forget?

There was this one time when I was a tyrannosaurus rex, back in the days when dinosaurs ruled the world, when I savagely chased down a pack of frightened baby triceratops when their mother was asleep.

Then there was this one time when I was a saber toothed tiger, not long after the asteroid hit, killing off my kind, when I fed on a group of helpless baby ground sloths after their mother slinked away for dinner.

Then there was this one time when I was a timber wolf and I rampaged a dray of newborn baby squirrels and their mother in their nest.

Then there was this one time when I was a lynx and I pounced on a litter of baby mice.

Then there was this one time when I was a coyote and I hunted a little of poodle puppies right when their eyes opened and they could see my ferocity.

Then there was this one time when I was a housecat and I killed the caged baby parakeets because I could stand their chirping any longer.

Then there was one time when I was a corgi and I massacred the hamster’s horde of newborns. Like momma hamster wasn’t going to get to them if I hadn’t? Give me a break.

My years of rebirth haven’t weeded one thing out of me, though I have changed forms too many times to count, and that is a bloodlust for youth. What can I say? I have a taste for young blood and I have no qualms about eating babies.

So I guess this is some hilarious cosmic joke, right? The universe is laughing at me, and I have to admit that Mother Nature is pretty fucking clever. I mean, the bitch got me good. Serves me right for not heeding her warnings.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. When we die, our souls float in the ether like billions of invisible balloons waiting for our next party. Mother Nature plucks us out of the sky one by one when it is time to be reborn. She erases the memories of our past lives. She gives us the chance to start anew. She whispers encouragement or advice before she unites us with our new forms—setting out to mend past mistakes and live better, fuller lives the next time around.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But, Teddy Bun Bun, how do you know this if she erases everything?” Well, I’ll tell you.

I ran out of chances. She believed in me. She kept giving me new life after new life and always whispered, “Cherish youth,” before she dropped me into my new body and I always completely disregarded her. Went for the babies.

I figured out that I didn’t like them too too young. Newborns are too trusting. They don’t know that there are bad things in this world. Bad things like me. I went slightly older. Old enough that their fear would season their insides, giving them just the right flavor. God, my mouth is watering just thinking about it. But I also wanted them young enough to make it easy. I didn’t ever want to do the work, you know? It was always a game for me in the stretch of my many lives. I’d always leave one alive, so emotionally scarred that they’d be better off dead.

I did this one too many times. The last time I died, I was a Tasmanian devil. Small but fast and strong. Vicious. I honestly think she was testing me, but that’s beside the point now, isn’t it? I was a Tasmanian devil and I turned on my own. I ate my babies. I ate my mate. I ate her family. I ate everyone.

I crossed a line. The last line. I died and she sucked one back up into my invisible balloon and I waited eons to be given a new skin. It wasn’t peaceful like it had always been, though. Mother Nature gave me back my memories. Memories from all of the lives I’ve ever lived over the hundreds of millions of years that life has existed on this planet.

I spent my time living and reliving all of the violence I committed during my lifetimes. My acts played before my eyes on a continuous loop. Never once was there a moment of tenderness. I could feel the muscles that I didn’t have in my disembodied state tense with each kill. I could taste everything. I was mouthless.

She meant for this to be torture, but it didn’t work out that way. It only made me want it more. I couldn’t wait to jump into my new skin, prowl, and hunt.

But she knew. So she went a different route. She put me inside the body of a stuffed fucking bunny. I’m not truly alive and therefore I will never die. I am cute and soft and plush. I have no claws. My toothless mouth is sewn shut. My glass eyes can see. My ears can hear.

I live in a fucking preschool. Preschools mean kids. Kids who scream and cry and punch and throw. Kids sleep on me. Kids drag me through the dirt. Kids drool on me. Kids get their snot all over me. They piss on me. Throw up on me. Cry on me. Fight over me. put me in their grubby little mouths. Rip my seams. Rip off my nose, tear out my eyes.

Every time one of those little brats rips me or makes me filthy, I hope and pray for this to end. I want to be thrown into the fire. Disintegrate. Vanish. Poof. I never will.

The teachers mend me. run me through the wash. Clean me up. Sew me up. Good as new.

Good as new.

Good as new.

Forever and anon.