Rabbits, Binkies, and the Secret to Success

I’ve been trying to write microfiction– and failing. That’s because microfiction has to be 300 words or less. This one is 525 words, so it only qualifies as “flash fiction,” which can run up to 1000 words.

The above header is an Internet Archive Book Image with no known copyright restrictions. I downloaded it, cleaned it up, and added some color.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Another seedy table tennis club.

Every forest’s got one. I should know. I’ve been in most of ’em.

They’re all the same. The rickety tables, cracked plaster, dirty floors, the cigarette smoke up by the ceiling with all those filthy fly strips hanging down.

A bar over in the corner, paddle racks on the walls. Guys flashing too much cash, and dames showing too much fur.

I walked in and closed the door behind me. It got real quiet. Everybody turned to check me out. Well, well, well— what have we here??

And I felt like they were seeing every failure I ever had. Like there was a big neon sign over my head flashing LOSER, and another one that said NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Like they knew I’m the one who got careless and lost that race to the turtle.

That I’m a rabbit who could never find his way out of a hat, and that no magician will work with me.

That I always struck out at the hop.

That my buck teeth are surgical implants.

That I’m no good at something rabbits are supposed to be famous for: multiplying. In fact, math is my worst subject.

They know about my Great Aunt Phoebe. How she invented the rabbit punch, and used it to kill 16 husbands before they caught her and sent her to the butcher shop.

And how my great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side sawed off his own foot and sold it to a novelty company so he could get drunk on lettuce wine.

Everyone in the room can see it. They know I’m a loser and always will be.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

That’s what I used to think, anyway. Not anymore.

You know what saved me? Something I read in a Substack newsletter.

It started out with the usual drivel, but then it said: Do you feel like people can see your failures? That somehow they know you’re a loser?

I thought: That’s it exactly!!

But then it said: Nobody sees your past except you. People only see what you show them, and they only know what you tell them.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

So I looked at them all, and I did a binky.

That’s right, a binky— that playful twisting leap in the air that rabbits do. The one where they spin around 180 degrees. Of course that left me facing the door, so I had to do another one so I was facing the right way.

I walked over and took a paddle off the rack. Then I walked over to a table.

A rhinoceros at the bar threw back his drink and ambled over. He tossed a wad of bills on the table. “Fancy a game?”

I won five straight. He never scored a point. I scooped up the bills and did another binky. I had a drink with a babe who made Jessica Rabbit look skinny. Then I left.

People only know what you tell them.

So I don’t tell them about Aunt Phoebe or any of my failures.

I also don’t tell them I’ve been playing ping-pong all my life, and that I’m the biggest furry-pawed hustler whoever picked up a paddle.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

About Mark: I’m an illustrator specializing in humor, branding, social media, and content marketing. My images are different, like your brand needs to be.

You can view my portfolio, and connect with me on X, Facebook, and LinkedIn.

Questions? Send me an email.

Follow @mrstrongarm