With a last drop of maroon dye and a smear of periwinkle, he had finished the last Easter egg of the day. As usual, he was astonished by his own work taking time to part with its magnificence, beholding it for one last moment. “These stripes are flawless, a perfect fusion of technique and ingenuity. You’re such a prodigy, I can’t wait to see the look on the children’s faces once they see my finicky designs,” talking to himself as he hides the last egg.
His ears prickled, sensing the oncoming children racing to the shrubbery. Prepare yourself for the heap of compliments, Bunny. He thought to himself again unknowing of the group of children already wandering around the garden. And one by one, as he saw the children spotting the eggs he was dismayed, in fact, he was utterly outraged. No one took the time to appreciate the intricate designs outside, not one single soul. I worked hard on those goddamn designs. They’re amazing, no, perfect. Those are the most bona fide designs you’ll ever find anywhere here on Earth. Don’t you just tear them off. They are perfect. And ‘perfect’ kept imprinting itself on his mind.
They’re perfect, they’re perfect… they are fucking perfect. But in fact that wasn’t what he truly implied, what he meant was, I’m perfect… I am perfect.