Lightweight

The taxi came to a halt under the moth-swarmed streetlight that hung at the end of the parking lot.

“It’s like smoking a cigarette,” the rabbit said, her mischievous smile widening to a full-fledged grin, “just bubblier. Like me!”

When Miles died, probably of blunt trauma from a tire iron or baseball bat, the autopsy crew would see his charcoal-black lungs, and attest to his prodigious smoking ability. But this weird glass object he was presented was far from a cigarette – it reminded him more of some kind of black magic ritual. The thylacine looked at his apparent new friend through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t drive under the influence, lil’ missy. Not anymore.”

“Aw, come on, man, don’t be a square! You don’t have to drive. My house is right here if you need a place to crash.”

The thylacine sighed and shone his trademark toothy grin. “I could smell your type a mile away, lil’ missy, you know that? You have it all over yourself. Is that why you have the entire kit in your handbag? To find someone to share it with?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, to be young and rich, and not give a damn about what the world wants of you. I used to be two of those three, you know,” Miles winked. For the first time, he had a good look at his client.

The rabbit – Linda, she’d said her name was, back before he thought he’d need it – had all the trappings of a party animal. Manicured nails, painted eyebrows, clip-on earrings hanging from her floppy ears, and that underlying hysterical energy of someone who’s in for a good time, not a long time. Her glossy gray fur faded into the dark blue of her felt dress, carefully positioned to reveal as much cleavage as possible. Noticing his attention, she crossed her legs; Miles thought he caught a glimpse of lace under the miniskirt. From a distance, she looked like a class act; that was before the worn fabric could be seen, and the cannabis could be smelled.

“Come on, Mr.?”

“Miles,” the thylacine said, almost on instinct. “Miles, at your service, lil’ missy.”

“Come on, Mr. Miles-at-your-service. Join me back here, and we’ll relax together. What harm could it do? I promise I’ll pay you before I go.”

“Aw, what the hell.”

Miles left the key in the ignition and braved the cold midnight hair for only a few seconds, before joining Linda in the back seat.

“Alright, lil’ missy,” he said as he elbowed his way in, sliding both seats forward to make space, “talk me through this again, won’t you?”

With practiced movements, Linda prepared the bong. Miles watched, not without some interest, as she produced a plastic bottle from her handbag and poured it into the contraption. The expected little bag full of shredded green leaves came out soon after; the thylacine’s nose wrinkled as the fullness of its smell was released into the air. Linda giggled, gently bopping the tip of his snout.

“Aw, ain’t you adorable.”

If Miles could blush, he would have.

Furred gray fingers packed the weed into the bowl; it seemed much too much for the thylacine, but the rabbit seemed to know what it was doing. “Ta-daa,” Linda eventually exclaimed. “Care to do the honors?”

Miles looked down at the bong like he was witnessing some ancient artifact. “Do I just-”

“You hold it like this.”

Miles found himself having his posture adjusted by two gentle and assertive – and yet, remarkably touchy-feely – hands. He fought his instinct to protest and maybe bite, and allowed her to place the bong on his lap. Her hand took his and squeezed, before maneuvering it to the left side and around the glass implement.

“I’ll light it up, all you have to do is tilt it like this… and breathe in.”

The water bubbled. He pressed the tip of his snout awkwardly against the glass mouthpiece and did as advised.

A stinging wave washed over his lungs and brought tears to the corners of his eyes.

_______________________________________________________

Idle minutes turned to hours. Time had lost its meaning inside the taxi. The rolled-up windows kept the massive cloud of gray trapped in the small cubicle; from within, slurred words and giggling could be heard.

Where once there was a healthy distance between driver and client, now there was a slumped pile of brown and gray fur, basking in each other’s warmth. Linda ran her fingers over the thin, coarse coat of the thylacine for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time smiled at the pleasant sensation.

The bong lay on the front seat, its contents used up. Several more little bags, now empty, lay scattered across the car. Linda smiled at the thylacine, who only barely reciprocated.

“Thanks for the ride, man. You’re a really good driver, you know that? You really drive up a storm.”

“Mhm…”

“Wow, you’re like, really far out just now, aren’t you?” Linda snapped her fingers, but the cabbie’s half-open eyes barely even twitched, let alone follow. “I guess that’s to be expected… I did let you smoke, like, all of it.”

Miles chuckled at nothing. He was not even paying attention.

The rabbit patted the cabbie. Her fingers ran down his button-up shirt, undoing its buttons as it traveled and revealing more and more of his clear-furred chest. “You wanna head upstairs? I’ve got a couch for you to crash on. Crash in? Crash on.”

No response, save for a yawn. Linda found herself giggling as she looked down the predator’s maw, even through the thick smokescreen that hung in the air. It snapped shut like a sprung trap, mere inches away from the rabbit’s nose – she winced away a full second after a fact, then giggled. “Whew. Scary one, ain’t you? I guess that’s why you drive around at night. Can’t be scared when you are the scare… you there? Miles?”

“Heh…”

“C’mon, stand up, now…”

She slid her arm around his shoulders and pulled. His body was heavy and slothful, doing nothing to assist her. No wonder she couldn’t move him; she was half his height at best and was hardly the strongest rabbit out there. Still, she tried.

“Heh. Heheh.”

“Man, you’re a lightweight, aren’t you? Uppity up, now… hey, now, mister, not out here! Inside, we’ll – hey, easy there…”

There was a good reason for her protests. Miles’s hands, so idle up until now, seemed eager to touch. They pressed to her sides, moving over her curves. His movements, though lazy and loose, handled her quickly; he was, after all, much larger than her. She looked down at him and found him smiling, with a dopey, half-absent look in his eye. Chuckling at nothing. Barely aware. She saw his maw open again, with time consciously, with purpose. She saw his sharp teeth and his long tongue in a different light when she felt them rub against her feet.

“Heh… kinky, aren’t we? Didn’t take you for a – hey, easy there, big guy, I think you’re… hey!”

In her own hazy state, she did not realize what had happened at first. But the warmth that surrounded her feet was very much real, as was the thick wetness that pressed her legs together, pulling in. Her eyes slowly opened to the realization, and her smile slowly faded.

“Hey, let go! Let go of me!”

“Heh.”

Linda’s pleas were answered with a swallow – and to her horror, she felt herself sliding in. “Miles? Miles, are you- Miles!?”

Though slow, the thylacine’s movements were deliberate, exact. He knew what he was doing. Every pull was followed by a gulp, every thrash was met with clenching of his massive jaws around her legs. His fingers traveled up her body, both feeling it and holding it tight.

Her body dragged over the faux leather seat. Clothes and all. Pulled in by an irresistible series of swallows, guided in by the thylacine’s claws. Miles’s maw gaped under Linda, so vast it looked as if it would split his skull in half; hungrily, it consumed her. A slobbering tongue licked at her back, eagerly exploring the taste of fur and fabric. Around her legs, she could feel his insides, pulsating and squeezing, claiming her.

“Miles, stop that! I’m your friend, Linda! What are you doing?!”

Her wide hips disappeared with ease into the thylacine’s mouth, whose nostrils flared appreciatively. His eyelids trembled but refused to open fully.

“No, no, no…”

A hand pressed to her left shoulder. Another stroked her ear a few times, before landing on the top of her head. Tears ran down her cheeks, sliding over the thin fur of her face. “Don’t eat me! I’m not food!”

His ears both turned to her. She was being heard; for a moment, she thought she may yet be saved. Could she reach him in his altered state? “Miles! Miles, stop that! It’s me, Linda!”

The ears twitched. They held erect for a moment. Then, slowly, they flattened against Miles’s skull.

The corners of his lips curled up.

A chill ran down Linda’s spine.

Gulp.

The thylacine finished his delectable meal as casually as he had started it. His gullet was happy to claim the rabbit’s chest, her shoulders…

“I’m not food! Don’t eat me, please! I’m-”

…and lastly, after one final flick, her head. Linda’s screams fell silent, replaced with dry heaving muted by the flawless soundproofing that was several inches of thylacine. Tight walls trapped her body; powerful peristalsis dragged her down, through kicking and pushing and begging, into the stomach that awaited her.

“Heheheh…”

The cabbie rolled onto his back. His hands rested on his stomach, now carrying the unmistakable bulge of a rabbit-sized meal. In his altered state, he found the vibrations of the rabid struggle going on within amusing and intriguing. His tongue hung off the corner of his mouth, dribbling dank-smelling saliva on the upholstery. A particularly vicious kick against his stomach walls released a small puff of air from his mouth – and it too carried the scent of weed. Miles’s stomach, made hungry by the rabbit’s offering, was now pleasantly full. It soon began churning at the weakening body inside, drowning it in its powerful juices. Linda’s weakening breaths released in a thick and sweltering atmosphere. The party girl would party no more; she would soon be reduced to nutrients. At least the munchies had been dealt with.

A few hours later, as the intoxicating agent slowly left his bloodstream, a confused and still very high Miles wondered where his friend had gone, and why she had so rudely neglected to pay her fare.

“Ugh, rabbits… I’m stickin’ to cigarettes from now on,” he mumbled, absentmindedly patting his gut. Then again. His brow furrowed… and then he blinked.

“…oh, fuck.”