Dead Rabbit

I was walking down a back lane near my house last week when I stumbled upon a dead rabbit. The rabbit was in a patch of grass that was situated betwixt a wrought-iron fence and the concrete. I would like to think that the rabbit died peacefully. It didn't look like there was any struggle.

When I saw the rabbit a couple of days later, a mongrel or a famished animal of some sort must have chewed on the insentient corpse for some time. There was a huge, gaping crimson hole in its neck, and wasps and flies were inspecting the hole like little children investigating a deep, dark well. Behind the rabbit's corpse was an opulent display of the rabbit's fur; soft shrapnel left over from the unfair battle with the enigmatic animal.

This encounter with the rabbit conjured up some questions from the deep recesses of my mind: How many dead rabbits are out there right now? What separates life from death, if anything? Do animals possess an occult essence that sustains itself beyond death? Is death simply a mirage (a death of the form but not the content)? Do rabbits transmigrate? Do rabbits dream of the boundless meadows of the post-rabbit after-life?