Dad, I don't want to.
Please don't make me do it.
You watch a little white rabbit hop in the distance
in front of you.
It stops to nibble on a tuft of grass.
You breathe in the damp forest air.
I'm not raising a weakling.
I'm going to teach you how to be a man.
You watch nervously as your father peers through the scope of a rifle.
You feel the deafening thudding of your heartbeat.
But the rabbit didn't do anything.
This isn't about the rabbit, Roko.
It's about being dominant.
it’s about power, control, and knowing you’re in charge.
It's about not letting anything weaker get the better of you.
But-
Your dad shoves the rifle in your hands.
Roko, you're already 10 years old.
My father taught me how to hunt when I was just 5.
You're old enough.
It's time for you to become a man.
You stare at the rifle.
Ok... ok dad.
Crouching low, you feel the rifle tremble in your hands.
With the rabbit in your sights, you line up the shot.
Breathe steady.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
Control your breathing; you control the shot.
The rabbit faces you, as if knowing its fate.
Squeeze the trigger — don’t yank it.
Make it smooth.
Your finger rubs the trigger.
Ready?
You hold your breath.
Now.
The crack of the shot echoes through the trees, and the rabbit falls.
That's my boy.
Your father approaches the dead rabbit,
picks it up by its hind legs and inspects the clean shot.
You feel numb.
Not bad, Roko.
Come on, follow me.
We're not done yet.
You follow your father as he carries the limp rabbit back to the campsite.
You watch as he kneels and lays the rabbit down on a flat rock,
before walking into his tent and emerging with a strange black box
in his hands.
He sets the black box down next to the rabbit
and pulls out a small knife from his belt.
Watch carefully.
He grabs the rabbit's hind leg and makes an incision above the ankle.
Loosening the skin, he firmly peels the skin back,
working it away from the muscle.
The rabbit’s skin comes off like a glove, revealing the pale flesh beneath.
You don’t need much force.
It’s about knowing where to cut, where to pull.
Control.
The pale-pink flesh glistens in the light of the setting sun.
Are you hungry yet, boy?
Hearing his question makes you want to cry,
but you hold back your tears.
Dad...
Of course.
I'm starving.
I haven't eaten anything since we started camping 3 days ago.
You said I couldn't.
Your father smiles.
He cuts a chunk of belly flesh off of the rabbit.
Holding the flesh in his teeth, he opens the black box.
Nestled in the black box is spaghetti bolognese.
This is the last part of reaching manhood, Roko.
I've laced this spaghetti with something called lysergic acid diethylamide.
Lysergic... what?
Nevermind the name.
I am about to show you reality in its purest form.
I am about to show you the doors of perception.
All you have to do is walk through it.
He grabs a fistful of spaghetti and buries the rabbit flesh chunk it it.
Eat it.
You're so hungry that you grab the spaghetti immediately
and wolf it down.