The Carrot and The Hare
(Originally written as part of the NYC Midnight 1,000-word Flash Fiction Challenge 2020. Requirements of the contest were to write a fairy tale taking place in an obstacle course, and I had to incorporate a carrot. I ranked in the top 15! Check my next post, “Nothing to See Here” to read my entry for round 2.)
It was the eve of the 278th annual Umpqua Forest Mystical Creatures Obstacle Course Relay. Every year, all sorts of creatures would compete for the dominant spot and all of the perks that come with a glorious victory. Each species had its own advantages and disadvantages. The Trolls were strong, but slow; the Elves knew the forest better than anyone, but their hubris often hindered their chances at success; the Ogres were strong and fast, but astoundingly dimwitted. The Faeries were fast and agile but lacked in defensive skills. This was a particularly bad shortcoming, given that the fifth team of creatures competing were the Kobolds. Everyone knows a Kobold never misses an opportunity for a tasty Faerie snack. As for their strengths and weaknesses, the Kobolds were clever and tenacious, but they struggled with the relay format, as they typically went through life facing challenges in pairs and struggled to do anything well when alone.
There were those who would have liked to compete but didn’t. The Leprechauns had many ideal traits to make them formidable contenders, but they were too distracted counting their gold to make it to the starting line in time. The Unicorns did not enter, for they had been disqualified after the 50th annual relay when it was determined that they were impossible to beat—they had won all 50 so far. The Huldufólk were disqualified as well before they could even enter, as it was decided that being invisible was an unfair advantage.
Most years it was just these five species who competed to acquire or defend the title of Umpqua Champion, giving their kind reign over the forest for the year. The Faeries had won most of the past 100 races, but not enough to end up like the Unicorns. Other species didn’t bother entering, as it was rumored that the contest got bloodier each year, and that the Ogres played dirty. The 278th would be different, though. A new species was entering. Not just a species that had never entered the race before, but an all-together new life form.
The starting line sat in a clearing in the forest, which happened to also be home to a thriving carrot patch. It was not mere luck that the Faeries usually won—they regularly logged countless hours of practice on the course, often huddling together in the clearing to strategize and to discuss intel they had collected on the competition. (Fear of being eaten by a Kobold is a potent motivator). Hundreds of years of faerie dust raining down on this patch had made the soil magical.
So it was that on the eve of the relay race, new life sprang forth. The first of the creatures punched through the soil with a wrinkly orange fist, followed by a second. It pressed its dirty palms against the ground, giving it leverage enough to hoist the rest of its body up to stand on thin, gangly legs. It quickly helped four more of its kind unearth themselves to a standing position where they wobbled clumsily like newborn foals fresh from the womb. They carried on pulling up a few more carrots, but the magic had not affected these ones yet. These were just ordinary vegetables, so they were tossed aside. Those left standing were only five, which would not be enough for the race.
The carrot creatures had no spoken language, but they shared an understanding: they needed a sixth. Though they had just this morning absorbed enough magic to become fully sentient, they had been watching the faeries train for weeks. They knew all the rules of the race. They had memorized the tips and tricks espoused by the champion faeries. They were certain that they were a lock for the win if they could only find a sixth. The sun would be coming up soon, so they had to be quick about it. Frantically, they searched for another companion, pulling up carrot after lifeless carrot. Their efforts were in vain, but they did succeed in attracting a hungry rabbit.
The carrot creatures looked on in horror as the fluffy white beast devoured their inanimate brethren. They recoiled at the realization that these other carrots likely knew what was happening to them. After all, they too had been mostly aware of their surroundings for weeks before gaining the ability to see, and ultimately to move. Amidst the panic, a terribly perfect idea occurred to them. Nowhere in the rules did it say that a team had to be all the same species. It was decided, with nothing more than a glance and nod of the head from each of the five carrot creatures: They would lure the rabbit into becoming an unwitting member of their team.
The carrot gang quickly used their magic to manifest an unforgivable contraption, its purpose as sinister as it was genius. The rig would allow one carrot creature to mount the rabbit while another of their ranks was to be dangled in front of it as a lure. This needed only to work long enough for the rabbit to finish the first leg of the race, which was all about jumping obstacles. A perfect fit for a rabbit.
One carrot ventured out to the marker that denoted the second leg in order to set a snare for the rabbit once it had completed its task, while the others gathered at the starting line. The other species would be showing up any minute.
A short time later, the race began. The lure worked as planned, while another carrot, mounted on the rabbit's back, steered it by the ears. The other fantasy creatures all held their own, but none were a match for the swift rabbit. It completed the first set of obstacles expertly and way ahead of the competition.
This adventure was short-lived for the wiley carrots, however. The snare meant for the rabbit instead caught an elf, and rather than becoming champions that day, the carrots became breakfast.
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