“Holy Mother of Plastic Surgeons! Is this what’s under my bed?.”
– Hugh Hefner Jr.
No Dust Bunnies Were Injured During the Filming
Elsie lay within The Land of the Under-bed wrapped in swathes of comfortable shadows and listening to the sounds of an awakening day.
The Land of the Under-bed was a pleasant place.
A safe place.
A place free of the damnation of cleansing.
Like a secret cave, forgotten home to discarded toys, old socks and dirty magazines, that small space between the mattress and the floor was where she could be safe for a time. The Land of the Under-bed was a place where she could rest without fear of notice.
She had slept well, last night. The snores of the body resting above serenaded her like a lullaby. When she’d finally awakened it was still dark. To pass the time until the dawn, she listened to the stories of the dust bunnies — whispered tales of domestic happiness and childhood longing.
Not like the asylum.
No, the asylum was a dangerous place. No happiness there.
Especially for the Dust Bunnies. Dust bunnies couldn't live in asylums. Everything was too shiny and clean, as if insanity was contagious and a dedicated janitor could hold it at bay. The linoleum floors of the place that had once been her home absolutely glowed with their scourging, the alternating black and white tiles like chessboard roads where the patients were mere pawns of some drug-wielding queen.
No dust bunnies lived within the acres of infection free floors. Even beneath the beds, the floors were slick and hard with only an occasional speck of dust marring its sanitary plane.
The janitors were murderers.
Serial killers.
Elsie had learned not to stare into their eyes, to stare in anyone’s eyes. One could be captured by eyes if not careful and, if anything, Elsie had learned to be careful. The janitors pretended to be mere drones, always sweeping, mopping and buffing, but if she stared carefully into their reflections upon the asylum floor, she could see their real faces. The truth of their evil was in the reflection of their eyes, luminous with the crazed devotion of disciples of a God who refused to allow imperfection.
Imperfection…
…defined by him.
…maligned by him.
Elsie sighed and petted a dust bunny. She heard its muted coo as it sighed with contentment. She touched the creature in its tender spots and watched happily as it raced around the floor, spinning and twirling in a circular happy dance. This home was a good place, the home to a host of happy dust bunnies. There was no fear of a janitor here. Elsie brought her arms together, gathering a hundred dust bunnies in a warm embrace, promising them that she would look after them as they looked after her.
"Danny, time to get up," came a harried shout from downstairs.
The bedsprings quivered above her, then released as a boy's feet hove into view. She quieted the screams of panic from her wards, whispering promises of love and safety.
"Aw, Mom. It's too early."
"Don't give me any shit this morning. Everyone's running late."
Elsie huddled within The Land of the Under-bed and stared through the thick gray thistle of the dust bunnies, watching the boy dress then hurry downstairs. She waited until the front door slammed and the family car backed out of the driveway before she slid silently into the room.
***
Elsie spent the day doing what she always did.
First stop was the fast food joint down the block. Breakfast was found in the dumpster — dirty, rancid, edible and divine. Sitting happily among the refuse, Elsie munched, flipping through yesterday's newspaper and shaking her head at the news of the crazy world she had left behind. From the mound of detritus, she pulled almost empty cups and drank the residue of yesterday's melted ice. When she finished, she leaned back and drifted, staring through the open lid of the dumpster at the clouds drifting by, imagining them as immense dust bunnies flying through the air, seeding the world in an attempt to return it to the natural state of chaos.
Elsie was forced to abandon her comfortable place when her bladder signaled its fullness.
In the bathroom of the fast food restaurant Elsie ran her fingers along the inside lip of the toilet. She admired the steadfastness with which the staff ignored it. Like all fast food restaurants, the staff was made up of kids who placed more stock in the thrills of life and their new freedoms than in cleaning. The floor was littered with toilet paper and the