It is another gruelling day, depressing and dank. The sun seems grey in a dark sky, draining all colour from the world. Hope fades. Food turns to ashes in our mouths, drink satisfies no thirst. We begin to mourn for ourselves, our lives outside forgotten, our loved ones a distant memory. The very atmosphere is oppressive, still and quiet but threatening of what we know not.

It is day four.

The bunny is angry. [1]

[exeunt]

[1] small distant voice: "I'M NOT ANGRY JUST DISAPPOINTED"

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