There once was a boy who was full of energy, so full of popping, crackling loops of it that he could hardly keep it from shooting out of him and turning blenders and cars and amps and light bulbs on and off at the most inappropriate of times. The boy didn’t know what to make of it. The people of the town tried to be understanding, but the boy knew they called him the 60 Watt Kid behind his back, and he could sense that they were afraid of him. This made the boy very lonely. He sought solace in the desert just outside of town, where large-eyed creatures watched him quietly from their cool perches among the creosote and gnarled sandstone piles.

On this day, the boy really let his electricity fly. It flowed from him in crashes and rumbles, twinkling melodies and cascading yelps that jerked his limbs so violently that edges of things began to twist and break into one another. The boy shook and shook, and eventually the kinetic shards of color his electricity had made snapped completely away from their hosts and began slamming together in the most beautiful assortment of Random Patterns.

The Patterns banged loudly against each other with staccato, tinny thuds. Some issued viscous sighs as they sucked smaller pieces through themselves. Others, wedged against a million frenetic polygons, belched victorious brass shouts as they pushed their way back into the whirlwind. The boy was overcome. The Random Patterns would slow their circuit periodically, and he would be deceived into thinking the crush of color and sound was over, but then the pounding, melodious, buzzing, sizzling tornado would begin anew.

The boy had no idea how much time had passed or where he was when the Patterns finally began to release him from their grip. He only knew that it was night, and that he wasn’t sure in which direction the town lay. He sat down on a rock to puzzle over what to do. As he let his gaze slide into the darkness, a form that looked different than anything he had ever seen in the desert began to solidify in the cactus patch to his right. The wind hissed “Bruuuuuuuunoooooooo.” Soft, floppy ears and a rounded head began to take shape. A furry body and partially concealed cottontail said their hellos. Outstretched paws held two sticks delicately over a silent box placed on a stump, and a pair of dull, red eyes observed the boy without looking at him.

The bunny touched the box lightly. It began to bleed sounds that the boy had never before heard. It pulsated, “BOBBbobbbobbbobb BOBBbobbbobbbobb.” The bunny kept his head down, and tapped the box with one or the other of the sticks he held. Every time he did, new sounds flowed from the box that both erased and faded into the ones already coming from it. The smallest desert animals sat at the bunny’s feet, as enthralled as the boy. The sounds waved and rolled in plumes, trickling up and lilting out, and the boy could see them pushing the stars around like taffy, and he was happy.

—Ayse Arf