#if i had been a driver at that time and a hag who drank like a fish outdrove me like he did to those guys..... id just retire bruh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raphiot · 5 years

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The Little Lop-eared Lady

How does that crazy old lady make a mess like this, day after day? It’s like she runs around the building tossing shit everywhere, giggling about how funny it’ll be when she orders us to clean it up.

I had cleaned the kitchen, the guest room and the hallway. My dress was dirt-black. I’d already smoked three cigarettes and it wasn’t even noon yet. It’s a never ending job keeping up with the crone who lives in this dump, not to mention thankless—how has Ethel put up with this for so long? How has she kept from having a nervous breakdown and stabbing that slavedriver to death?

Beatrix Potter, the loony Lunarian that lords over this little witch’s house. Oh, she acts nice enough—candies peaches for us, made Ethel a nice necklace, has only ever joked about cutting off our feet to make luck charms once or twice—but I see through the facade. That snide, smug, self-satisfied smile. The way she wears her hair in that careless, sloppy bun. The way she holes herself up in her room for days at a time without a word. She’s a self-absorbed, slave driving sponge, leeching off our labor while she lies around and barks orders.

It’s always, ‘You left cigarette butts on the dining table, Matilda,’ or ‘Don’t leave your dirty plate sitting on the veranda after lunch, Matilda,’ or ‘Could you go to the market and fetch some milk since you drank the last of the gallon, Matilda.’ Lazy old bat! Won’t do a damn thing herself! Makes me sick!

“Matilda? Didst thee drop some heavy thing? I heard a banging sound, come from beyond the balcony door,” snaked the muffled, lecherous voice of the Lunarian woman, feigning concern from inside the building.

“I, ah, everything’s fine,” I replied quickly; I had absentmindedly been stomping the ground in my very rightful anger. Thinking fast, I added, “I tripped over one of the flower pots you leave out here. Real dangerous, leavin’ ‘em sitting next to the side ramp. Lucky I caught myself. I could’ve gotten hurt if I fell.”

“Oh, truly? I did hope the ivy might benefit from direct sunlight. Mayhap you are right—do bring them inside, then, wouldst you?”

Gritting my teeth and grumbling, I squatted down to lift one of the oversized plant pots, digging my thumbs into the potted dirt. She grows so many plants here. Fruits and vegetables and all kinds of flowers. I gotta wonder, is it because she’s so disconnected from life and death that she feels a need to watch it all the time, just so she remembers what it is?

Not long after Ethel signed me up for her little lunar coven, I tried asking. Why all these little projects? ‘The fruit of the mind rots eternal,’ she’d pretentiously yarn. Just how old is she, anyway? ‘Old enough to remember, but young enough to forget,’ whatever that meant. If she can’t die, does she really need to eat or sleep? ‘Please just help your sister prepare supper like I asked,’ she ordered, before rudely leaving the room.

Between the ivy leaves scratching my nose, there was a bright light coming from the sidewalk, like someone was holding up a mirror and reflecting the sun. Annoying—as if I didn’t already have enough to put up with, some goddamn hobo was trying to blind me. I put the pot down and raised my fist to yell at them, but whoever it was had already run off.

I set the pot down just inside the door and scanned the room for lurking eyeballs. The moon hag had wandered off somewhere, and I hadn’t seen my sister in a good hour or two—there was always the chance she’d gotten lost in the cupboards somewhere, hunting down every last strand of shed old lady hair.

The balcony entrance led to a mess of a room that Beatrix called ‘the laboratory,’ but the only laboring that ever happened in there was my sorry butt trying to scrape the still-burning embers of her failed science experiments off the walls. Two big tables sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, covered in filthy beakers, dirt and the occasional spot of mold growth. ‘Don’t clean up the dirt,’ she’d tell me. That it’s ‘rare lunar soil.’ How rare can it be if there’s a whole moon covered in it?

I’m not sure what it was about it, but the room seemed to attract plants. Every time I went in there, I’d find another vine growing out of a crack in the wall. One time I found a seed that had started to grow from a single speck of the moon dust that made it onto the floor. It doesn’t concern me much—I just rip them out and toss them.

I leaned into the doorframe and edged my head into the hallway, one ear at a time. Looking toward the library, there was nothing but empty hall and closed doors, lined by that ugly waist-high red wallpaper and those gaudy paintings of Lunarians holding rabbits. They sort of creep me out—are those round little puff-rats how humans really see us? Granted, I dunno what a human sees when I give ‘em the eye, but I always assumed it was something scary. Not whatever that is.

I turned my head to look toward the door, and who did I see but my little goody two-shoes sister. Standing there, with her fluffed-up ears and neatly combed hair, dusting the paintings. So proper. So refined. That tease. That flirt. Standing there, with all the buttons shined up on her green shirt. Oh, I’d seen her, showing off to rabbits passing by the Gallery. She acts like she’s so innocent, but I’m not fooled.

And to think she has the gall to tell me how to take care of myself. So what if I just comb my hair back in the morning? Nobody’s gonna see me anyway. And if I go outside, the wind takes care of the rest.

“Oh, Matilda,” she said, turning her head toward me, those dopey elephant ears of hers flopping around like fish out of water, “did you finish cleaning the guest room? How is the laboratory looking?”

I folded my arms impatiently. Of course! The first time we see each other in who knows how many hours since the slave driver sent us off to till the endless fields and clean her countless cobwebs, and what does she have to say to me? Not ‘good to see you,’ or ‘I’m glad the witch hasn’t made you into rabbit stew.’ No, it’s just the usual lack of trust in my work ethic, as if I’m some freeloader.

Should I not at least expect my own sister to join me in slacking off as a form of consolation? A rabbit rapport that stood tall against the old lady menace? No, that would imply that she and the hag aren’t giggling giddy behind my back, coming up with busy work for me to do. Who put these fingerprints on my imagination?

“Is something the matter? Your eyebrow is all atwitch,” she said, softening her voice to sound as innocent as she could manage, clearly guilt-ridden.

“Yeah, yeah, I took care of it, if you couldn’t tell. My clothes are black,” I pointed out the obvious, gesturing to the dirt darkened dress. “I’ve earned a break, ain’t I?”

“It is nearly tea time, so we can all rest a spell. Could you do me a favor first?” she asked coyly, wearing on her face an insincere smile.

“What’s that?” I impatiently demanded. A favor that would take the better part of the next hour, no doubt.

“I’ve not had a chance to tend the garden. If it’s not too much trouble, could you water the flowers?” she asked, touching the tips of her fingers together, transparently faking innocence. The garden was her job, and I wasn’t about to be suckered into taking on extra work simply because she didn’t want to get dirt on her pretty long ears.

As I was placing my hands on my hips and filling my lungs with the air needed to righteously deny her, however, she reached out and grabbed one of my ears.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” I demanded, careful not to jerk my head and pull my own ear off.

“Please, Mattie? I need time to prepare the tea and scones, so I would dearly appreciate your help,” she said, one weasley lie after another. While she had me distracted and fearing for my poor ear, she snaked the fingers of her free hand to my armpit and began to torture me with tickling.

“Stop! Stop it!” I cried between unwanted giggles. “Okay! Okay! I’ll water your goddamn plants!”

“Thank you,” she said with an evil smile. She loosened her grip on my ear and I slapped her hands away. Curling her finger and placing it on her lips to stifle her wicked cackling, she began toward the kitchen. “It shouldn’t take you but a minute, so come back to the kitchen when you’re finished, if you like.”

I scoffed. As if. The last thing I wanted was to play pastry maid; as soon as I was done watering those plants, I’d be off on another date with Mr. Marlboro. I begrudgingly made for the double doors at the entrance, quietly praying that a rainstorm had kicked up while I’d been inside.

Sadly this was one of the few days the big guy in the sky decided our little home sweet home didn’t need a thorough cleansing via torrents of rain and a sprinkling of lightning. The sunlight poked through the trees as if to greet me—what a nuisance. Eventually I convinced myself to trudge down into the mud hole we call a garden and pick up the watering can.

This dress, this field of plants and vegetables, this pail—I felt downright amish. All I needed was a well you pump by hand and I’d be right back in the 1800s. As backwards as things often were in the hermit’s company, though, we at least had running water and electricity.

I dropped the watering can onto the ground, dragged the hose toward me bit by bit, coiled the length of it next to me, and plopped the end into the can. If I wasn’t dirty before, I was then, my hands slimy with grime. I turned the nozzle, grumbling.

“Matilda, what would your mother say if she saw you covered in mud like that?”

A voice called from behind my back. I swung around to see the trees, like skyscrapers, reaching into the sun above me. A figure stood there among the forest, his shoes sunk into an inch of pine needles and shrubs. The hatch that lead into the warren was open next to him. The glare of the sunlight was blinding, but I could see his messy curls of hair, and I could feel his tired stare.

Daddy…?

The man turned to leave, blocking the sun’s blinding glare. Past the gate, standing on the crumbling sidewalk, I could see his shining spikes of golden hair tucked beneath a flat cap and his filthy-looking black leather jacket. The telltale look of a runaway coward who had a lot of nerve to show his face here.

Of course it wasn’t dad. It will never be dad.

“Hey!” I shouted at the golden hobo-hare as he ambled away. “Where do you think—”

He took the brim of his hat between his finger and thumb and covered his eyes, taking off down the street at a sudden urgent pace. I grit my teeth and tossed the still-flowing hose into the dirt. Grabbing my dress and hiking it up to my knees, I darted after the jerk. Once I reached the fence, I squatted down to gather my strength, my legs like coiled springs, and bound over the gate in one hop.

The hem of my dress caught on the gate and I nearly tumbled to the concrete. I managed to jerk it free with only a small rip, but by the time I looked up, there was no trace of that man’s greasy blonde hair.

Any other day I probably would have given up right then. My dress was covered in filth, there was mud in my shoes, and I could hear flowing water as I’d forgotten to turn the hose off—but god damn it, if I wasn’t determined to find that man and make him answer. Who the hell does he think he is, slinking around my home, spying on me and my sister?

So I took off in the direction he’d snuck away, flicking my eyes back and forth like a crazed cat hunting for a slippery little mouse. What hole did you disappear into, Gally? Down the abandoned alleyway next to the Gallery, where the dregs gather because they can smell the moon peaches? Perhaps hiding in the bushes, waiting for me to pass by so you can sneak away like a cornered rat? My teeth were clenched tight as I hunted for him, my fists bound so hard my knuckles were turning white.

Without realizing it, I’d pursued him down to the train tracks at the end of the block. Yellow cat’s eyes looked curiously down at me from the black, empty windowsills of the abandoned houses nearby, and if I was in a mood to care, I might have been concerned about the ever-present possibility of some lecher lurking in the shadows looking for his next taste of hare’s blood.

“Galahad! You coward! Show your face right now, you slimy, slackjawed vermin!” I shouted into the rustling trees. “You crusty old rat! You’ve got some nerve coming to my home, an—”

A hand slipped over my mouth, large enough to grab me by the jaw. It was connected to an arm covered by filthy leather, and above my head there was the blonde beard of the damned codger I’d been shouting at. His palm smelled like tobacco. He put a finger to his mouth and shushed me, which only encouraged me to flail my arms in anger and shout into his hand.

“Be quiet, goddamnit,” he said in a hushed, wary tone. He looked this way and that, probably looking for the shadow people that only appeared in his dried out, elderly mind. Once he was convinced that nobody was there, because of course there wasn’t, he let go of my mouth, spun me around and grabbed my shoulders. “Quit followin’ me. Ain’t safe out here.”

His voice rumbled in that gravelly way it always did, like there was a rock slide in my ears. Every time I heard him talk I could only wonder how he wasn’t dying of throat cancer. Still, as annoying as I found it in that moment, there was something comfortingly familiar about it.

“As if you give a damn about my safety,” I said, hot vapor escaping my nose. I turned my head away and huffed at him; he didn’t deserve the dignity of being looked in the eyes.

He sighed, mumbling grunts as if he had any right to be dissatisfied with me. He let go of my shoulders and gave me a long, hard stare, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. I scrunched up my nose at him to return the displeased sentiment. An uncomfortable silence settled in—which he broke with a fit of snickering.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded, stamping my foot impatiently.

“Oh, it’s jus’,” he pointed at my dirty dress. “They really got you scrubbin’ the floors and pickin’ weeds? I ‘member a time when you used to scream and shout when Charley so much as made you pick up yer toys and—”

“Shut up! What do you know? I did chores! I cleaned! You just didn’t stick around long enough to see!” I turned my back to him and folded my arms, my face red-hot. I thought about leaving him standing there right then, but I stood my ground.

“Alright, alright. Listen, let’s go somewheres nobody can hear us, okay? You can yell at me all ya like, then,” he said, sounding immediately tired of his own concession.

Turning my head enough only to give him a sidelong glance, I nodded shortly. He began to nonchalantly walk away down the train tracks, and would have left me standing there if I hadn’t hurried to follow. I again had a strong inclination to leave the senile old man to his wiles and just go home, but I was determined to give him a piece of my mind.

As we walked the tracks, the guy popped up his collar, lowered the brim of his hat and tried to sink low into his coat like a turtle hiding in its shell. It was ridiculous; as if any of the vagrants hunting the alleys for cans to turn in were going to recognize him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like an asshole.”

“Anybody was to see you with me, it’d complicate things,” he grumbled.

“Don’t wanna be seen with a dangerous Separatist criminal like me, huh?” I said before jabbing him in the rib with my elbow. He grunted and shook his head.

“No. If they was to see you, any of Jack’s flunkeys might think they could use you to get to me,” he said, an obvious lie.

Jack is dead, why would the Separatist rabbits still be looking for Galahad? Petty revenge? They were a group of displaced hares looking for a better life; they wouldn’t be interested in ‘getting back’ at Galahad for ridding them of a lying, lecherous, greedy man who promised more than he could deliver. At least, I would hope they wouldn’t—Jack broke up families, destroyed homes and tortured people, and for what? To end up right back where we started?

I found myself staring at the blonde man hiding under his flat cap. A matter of weeks ago, I wanted to see him strung up on a cross, literally bled dry to lead me to a fool’s paradise. Where did that anger go? There on the tracks, I saw his blonde bristles of beard, and for some reason I could not summon that anger. It was simply gone, and all I could offer in its place was annoyance.

“If you say so. Don’t they have better things to do than chase after a scraggly old man like you?” I asked, smirking.

He gave a raspy chuckle. “I sure hope so.”

As the track smoothed out onto road, the old rabbit lead me onto the street, and stopped before an inconspicuous looking little square house, its baby blue paint chipping and its roof looking like it might fall in any day now. Its yard was untended and overgrown, and the windows were shaded and dark. From where I stood, it looked like a drug den.

Galahad climbed the two step stoop made of cinder block before the door, and dug into his pant pocket to pull out a key. He stuck it into the door, and with some jimmying and banging, managed to get it open. I hopped up behind him to follow inside, but he placed his hand on my head as if telling me to wait, and poked his face into the crack of the door.

He stood there for a long while, taking in shallow breaths through his nose and silently scanning the room with his eyes. Finally, he was satisfied, and swung the door wide. He stepped quickly inside, ushered me in, and shut the door just as fast behind me.

I flicked the lightswitch next to the door and was greeted by a dimly flickering lightbulb above my head that provided just enough light to make out a vague amber outline of what lurked in the room. I saw the ceiling, pockmarked with rain damage; I saw cracked walls bleeding plaster onto the barren hardwood floor; I saw empty tables in the adjacent ‘kitchen’ that lacked a refrigerator. In fact, the tiny house distinctly lacked any sort of appliances whatsoever. Save for a couple of lawn chairs, piles of ashes here and there, discarded packs of cigarettes, and a bundled up sleeping bag in the corner, the place was empty.

“You, uh… live here?” I asked, looking at him incredulously.

“No,” he said, pulling a cigarette pack from his coat pocket. “This is an unoccupied house. I’d say it was abandoned, but there’s a guy who owns it. He jus’ ain’t done nothin’ with it in, oh, ten or so years, as far as I gather.”

“So you’re squatting.”

“I like to think of it as recyclin’. I’m usin’ somethin’ that’s been thrown away. Lotta houses in this town just sit empty for years an’ rot, while poor folk who could be livin’ in ‘em are sittin’ in the rain right outside. The guy who owns it ain’t usin’ it, so what am I hurtin’, sleepin’ on the floor every now and again?” he puffed excuses through the cigarette held in his lips as he leaned against the wall. He looked so unconcerned, the owner could probably have burst through the door at that very moment and he wouldn’t so much as blink.

“Then how’d you get the key? You steal it?”

“The owner was in here checkin’ fer squatters a while back. I convinced him to give it to me, an’ as far as he knows ain’t nobody been here,” he explained, shrugging.

“I thought you told us to never use our eyes unless we absolutely had to,” I interjected, attacking a hole in his complacency. “You hypocrite. Not so holy and righteous after all, are ya?”

“You an’ yer friends didn’t leave me much choice. Thanks to what you put the kid through, my old hidin’ place ain’t so secret anymore. I go back there and I’m liable to catch a bullet in my teeth,” he rumbled, lighting his cig. “An’ that’d be inconvenient.”

I nodded absentmindedly; the image of the old coot running from one hidey hole to another, pursued by drug addicts and the people he’d burned sprang into my mind. I put my hand over my mouth to hide a spiteful smirk.

When I was done silently laughing at his misfortune, however, I recalled the annoying reason I was standing in his crummy hovel in the first place. I put a hand on my hip and pointed an accusing finger at him, poised to give him the talking-to that he’d earned from his years of negligence and cowardice, but more importantly, for how he’d irritated me on that particular day by darkening my doorway.

“And so you thought it’d be a good idea to show up at my house, skulking around like a goddamn thief? These people who’re supposedly looking for you, they sure didn’t stop you from showing your prickly prick face did they? What if they showed up there, looking for you?” I stabbed my pointed finger forward through the air until it stopped on his chest, where I harshly poked his leather jacket several times.

He shut his eyes and sighed, likely taking a moment to come up with an excuse. In his position, leaned up against the wall with my finger jammed squarely into his ribs, it was going to need to be a good one.

“Hadn’t seen you or your sister in a fair bit, not since everythin’ went down. Wanted to make sure you was alright,” he mumbled and wouldn’t look at me, instead staring at the blinds in the window.

For a moment I wasn’t sure what to say. I withdrew my finger, turned around and looked toward the filthy tiles of the kitchen floor. There was a heavy, uncomfortable air in the room that was making my cheeks hot, so I changed the subject.

“Why’re you staying in a shitty place like this? Why not leave town, find somewhere better?” I asked, subtly concealing my desire for him to go away with an innocent-sounding question.

I could feel his yellow eyes pressing against the back of my head.

“I can’t. Not before I find ‘im.”

“Him?” I questioned, spinning around. “You mean… Jack?”

“I know what yer thinkin’—you saw the kid bludgeon him to death with yer own eyes, practically painted the damn floor with his blood. Ain’t no way he survived that, right?” He took a long puff, inhaled, and exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Iffin’ that was the case, his body shoulda turned up somewhere.”

“What? What are you talking about—didn’t the police take it?”

“Yeah, ‘bout that. I did some askin’ around, poked my nose here an’ there. Accordin’ to them, there weren’t no murders in the church that day. Just some injured folk who can’t recall what happened. But you know how it is in this town; they jus’ arrest everyone half-suspicious lookin’ and call it case closed, none too concerned ‘bout who did what,” he explained, and shook his head, disgusted.

“I’m sure the Separatist rabbits took him. They probably just chucked his body in the river,” I said, shrugging impassively. “He may have been a lying scumbag but I’m sure they didn’t just leave him there for the humans to find.”

“Ain’t that simple. If he’s gone, the Separatists should be scattered, disorganized. As it is, I’ve had three run-ins with ‘em just this week, an’ not fer a friendly chat over coffee ‘n donuts,” he said, his eyes tensing on me. “But it seems things’ve changed. They ain’t interested in my blood, not no more. No, what they want is ‘make the traitors pay.’”

I felt a chill run down my spine. That intense stare he was giving me, the low rumble of his words. This was no joke, he wasn’t trying to play some kind of mean-spirited prank. I could be in danger, just by having followed him.

Well that’s just fucking great. ‘Traitors’ like me.

“This gettin’ through to ya? Ya ain’t safe bein’ seen around me,” he said through a sheen of smoke. “Best thing for ya is to stay with that moon crone. Sure, she may be a headcase what’s got you cleanin’ her floors with a toothbrush, but no rabbit ‘round these parts’ll give ya trouble so long as you’re with her.”

“You kidding? That crazy old bag is a danger to herself and others. I’d prolly be safer on the streets,” I sighed, folding my arms.

I could either fear for my life running from the remnants of the Separatists, constantly looking over my shoulder, or I could fear for my life living as a lunatic’s girl in waiting, constantly wondering if her next crazy experiment will turn our house into a crater. You just can’t win in this world.

There was a light tap on the window, followed by several more. I felt a draft blow in from the door—a sudden rainshower. I nearly kicked the door in frustration; if I’d just waited a half hour I would never have needed to water the plants in the first goddamn place.

“Aw hell. That figures,” Galahad grumbled from the wall. He gave me a wry smile, and said, “Least we ain’t in it, huh?”

“Yeah, now I’m just stuck in here with you ‘till I decide I’m ready to get drenched,” I muttered.

“Y’know, I been thinkin’, since yer here, girl—” he rudely began, but I cut him off.

“I have a name.”

Chuckling, he cleared his throat and began again. “A’course, Matilda.” He pushed himself up from the wall and straightened his back. “Since yer here, maybe you could help elucidate somethin’ for me.” He came nearer, his presence akin to a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You were there when they took the emissary's blood, weren’tcha? You was with Jack’s Separatists from the beginnin’.”

“I was,” I confirmed, looking him unapologetically in the eye.

“You watched ‘em as they took a confused, helpless girl who didn’t know up from down and cut her open in the street. You watched as they left her to die.”

“I did.”

We were staring daggers into one another. I was afraid to blink, as it might have made him miss even a moment of my spiteful look.

“Yet they never did kill ‘er, and she was lucky enough for some bumbling kid to come along an’ patch her up. Jack, for all his blusterin’, couldn’t even kill one little moon girl. Ain’t like he didn’t have ample opportunity to finish her off later, either. Why’s that, ya think?” He stood over me, saying whatever he wanted, so satisfied with himself. I wanted to slap him, but I just looked at him and said nothing.

“I don’t think he had a sudden change ‘a heart, or that he didn’t have the stomach for it. No, I think somebody stopped him,” he sneered.

I felt my ears perk, my anxious nerves like needles pricking under the skin. I was an inch from reaching up and tearing his hair out.

“I think somebody stuck their neck out for our little moonie and begged him not to hurt ‘er. Ain’t that right?”

“SHUT UP!”

The words strangled me as they left my throat. My hands were balled into fists around his leather jacket, and I felt my bottom lip rupture as my two big teeth dug into it. Under the thundering beat of my heart, I stopped myself where I was, grabbing him, and repeated myself.

“Shut. Up.”

“... Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean… It’s just, because of you, she’s still…”

I let go of him and turned around, staring at the filthy floor. I sighed a heavy sigh; it’s true—when Jack cut open the lunar emissary, he was going to slit her throat to get the blood for that poison. I begged him not to. She’s a moonie, those holier-than-thou cretins who look down their noses at us filthy half-breeds on the Earth. I should have hated her—but she looked just like us, and she was alone and scared, couldn’t even speak our language. It wasn’t right. So he cut her down the middle instead, where she surely would have bled to death if it wasn’t for some bumbling moron in the night who happened to find her.

So much for me being some bucktoothed paragon of mercy like everyone keeps trying to imply. All my begging didn’t amount to very much.

“Just, maybe you could help me out here, that’s all I’m sayin’. If I’m gonna find ‘im, I need to understand ‘im.” Galahad’s scratchy drawl had a tint of desperation in it. The sound of him at a loss, asking for something only I could give—it was pretty nice, honestly. “What kinda leader was he? What’d he have ya do?”

“You wanna know what happened? I’ll tell you,” I stated, taking a deep breath. “But this is just so there’s no confusion.”

“Right,” he grunted, stuffing his hands back in his pockets and returning to the crumbling wall.

“After we took the emissary's blood... the next step was to wait for you to come out of hiding,” I explained, turning my head to glance at him. “With the emissary’s blood to make skoab, Jack thought you’d have no choice but to show yourself. And sure enough, you did.”

Galahad frowned and glanced down at his feet glumly, but nodded for me to continue.

“There was this old abandoned house we were staying in to make the drug. I’m sure you know how that is,” I said, giving him a knowing look.

Galahad stared back wryly. “You sure it was abandoned? Ya didn’t jus’ eyeball somebody outta their home, didja?”

“I’m sure. The place was a dump. Whoever lived there ditched it a long time ago; the driveway was full of dead cars and rusted old junk. From the way the place smelled I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a dead body in one of the rooms and we just never found it.”

“Some ‘Heaven on Earth,’” he scoffed, shifting his moustache in distaste. “Lot better than livin’ in a place you could call yer own, with people who care about ya.”

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring him, “it was only a few of us. Me, Jack, Barnaby from the warren, some other people I didn’t know. Jack didn’t want to attract attention, so he only ever had a few of us together at once.”

Except for that time he gathered us all together to terrorize the emissary just because she survived, I remembered. We pushed her into the mud and spat on her.

“He was a real jerkass. Always his way or the highway. Always had some big plan, would never give us all the details. Just ‘trust me Mattie,’ and ‘you know I’m right Mattie,’ and ‘I understand humans better than you, Mattie,’ like the fact that he lived out in the city made him better than us somehow. He even had the gall to make a pass at me,” I said. As my lips shut I put my fingers over them, realizing I’d said too much.

“Did he now?” Galahad questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I turned him down. He stunk like blood and rotten eggs all the time,” I said matter of factly, brushing it aside. The scruffy old man just grunted in response.

That was a lie, of course. Jack’s ‘pass’ at me was far from an amiable fliration. He deliberately tried to get me alone—I know it was half the reason we were in that abandoned shack in the first place. I still remember the lecherous way he looked at me, the way his clothes stunk like death when he came near me. If Barnaby wasn’t there with us, I don’t know what he might have tried. The thought of it frightened me, but I wasn’t about to tell that to ol’ Gally.

“He had me contacting every drug dealer we could find, trying to get ahold of a sample of your skoab that wasn’t already smeared onto somebody’s face. Then, I heard about some crackpot named Markus Flick. Think you might know him. We arranged a deal with him, and he sent a scraggly looking homeless kid up to give us the goods.” I turned to face Galahad, my arms held playfully behind my back. I was sure I was getting under his skin.

“Mm,” is all he said in return, listening with his eyes shut.

“He gave me a bag with a little jar in it, and he demanded I pay him. And then d’ya know what I did?”

“What’s that?” he asked, sighing.

“I looked him in the eye, and I told him to leave and never come back,” I stated simply, shrugging. “And you know what? He was so scared he fell on his ass, and took off running! Oh, if you coulda seen the look on his face. He was terrified!”

I couldn’t help but giggle. It really was hilarious, watching that guy’s face turn white and open his mouth to silently scream. I don’t really know what it is he saw, but from everything I know about how humans react to the ‘red eyes’ rabbits have, it must’ve been pretty terrible. Then again, he seemed alright when I saw him again later—so no harm, no foul, right?

“So that’s what happened,” Galahad said, exhaling smoke and running his hand down his face. “Goddamnit, you coulda got him killed. After ya did that, next thing he knew he was on the other side ‘a town. Was almost at the damn lake afore he came to his senses. Ya can’t just use yer eyes on folk willy nilly, this is the sorta shit that happens.”

“Hey, don’t gimme that! God knows how many people have been outta their minds for who knows how long, thanks to your little poison ointment! You got a lotta nerve to lecture me,” I shouted back.

I wouldn’t let him stand there and preach to me when the only reason we had access to this leaking hole of a house was his use of his eyes. He just sighed, however, and gave me a defeated look.

“I don’t wanna hear it. I know what I done,” he glumly muttered. “I just... dunno how it all ended up this way. Iffin’ I thought I could jus’ let him go, I’d forget about Jack. I’d go away somewhere that I couldn’t cause any more trouble. I fucked things up too much already.”

“Yeah you have! You made a real big mess of everything! Why’d you have to leave in the first place? If you just stayed in the warren, then Jack wouldn’t have convinced us to do all this stupid shit! Then, dad wouldn’t be…”

We stood there, staring at one another. There was a pained look in his eye, like he knew everything I was saying was true, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I knew that as well as anybody, but it wouldn’t stop me from resenting him. Finally, he broke the silence.

“The rain’s stopped.”

The air around the house was still, and the incessant dripping from the leaky ceiling onto the carpet had slowed. I looked toward the door, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“After we got the skoab from you… Jack changed,” I said, looking down at my fingers. “I almost never saw him. He locked himself in a room making more and more of it for over a day. And then he was always gone, spreading it around the town. He had me doing it, too, disguising myself as all these different people. He had me put it in old peoples’ food, for Chrissake.

“I saw what it did to people. At the time, he’d convinced me that it was justified. That we had to, because the humans had taken the world all for themselves, and this was the only way to take it back. But…”

“I know. It sounded right. You were tryin’ to do what you thought you had to,” he said quietly. The room fell silent again, until finally he spoke again. “Every night, I find myself thinkin’—wish I could go back homeward. Make things right again. But what’s done is done, there ain’t no goin’ back. What’s left to do is make right of what we got now.

“You oughta leave ‘fore the rain starts up again,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

I nodded and made for the door. With the knob turned halfway, I paused, and turned to look at him again. He removed his hat and wiggled his little ears at me, smiling.

“... I am glad you came back for us. I really am,” I forced the words out as quickly as I could, and slipped through the door.

☆☽☆

With the rabbit girl hopping back home, the gold-haired rabbit stood there a while, staring at the door. For a time, his mind was empty, unable to conjure the thoughts to go along with what he’d just done. Then, his muscles were spurred to movement again. He rose his hands to his head and buried them in his hair, sliding on his back down the wall until he hit the floor.

Liar.

It was only a little white lie, but it was a lie all the same. So much time he had spent surrounding himself with lies. Lies to protect others, lies to protect himself. The faces humans had known him by, lies. The names he’d been called by humans and hares alike—lies.

He was not some gallant, righteous figure whose story rested in exalted tomes of legend. He was not a man who had dedicated to himself to the preservation of his people and culture, nor did he champion the cause of leading those who had been exiled to a new home where they would be welcomed by those like them.

He was just a liar.

From the corner of his eye, the darkness lurking in the lightless spots in the empty kitchen began to bloom and grow. A malignant cloud of shadow, spreading its way over the filthy tiles and spilling onto the carpet. From the black hole, a thin figure sporting a green jacket and long dress emerged. The hare’s thick, blonde eyebrows tightened in anger.

“Whaddya want, witch?” his voice quaked, shaking in the dark.

“What a fine how-do-you-do. Hast thee been afflicted by a malady of rudeness to accompany thy brooding?” the figure in the dark said, its voice flighty and feminine. “I am come merely to see to the wellbeing of my servant, whom you so uncouthly snuck away.”

“You were listenin’ in, were ya? Stickin’ yer nose where it don’t belong again?”

“Oh, but how could I not? ‘Twas such a heated discussion, the atmosphere betwixt the two of you so intense. For a moment, I should not have been surprised if you took her in your great hairy arms and—”

“Shut it,” the hare interrupted.

“Come now, Galahad. How was I to guess that amid thy scruffy exterior, there exist still such a vulnerable creature? ‘I wish it were different. I wish to go home. Oh, little Matilda, the sight of you doth stir the troubled waters of mine heart!’”

The woman threw her head back in laughter, the green ribbon tied around her neck bouncing up and down as she cackled. When she was finished, she pressed the tips of her fingers to her chest as and steadied her breathing, as if relishing each merry breath.

The rabbit sitting on the floor rose slowly to his feet and slipped his flat cap over his stubby ears, adjusting the brim to rest over his brow. He looked sternly into the hermit’s eyes, internally debating whether he need explain anything to her at all. Finally, he let out an indecisive grumble.

“She’s the daughter of a good friend. A’course I care for her,” he stated gruffly.

“Ah, but I tug at your feeble heartstrings merely for a merry jest. Feel howsoever you like, it maketh no difference to me. The girl is mine, and with me she shall stay. The more pertinent matter is that of the falsehoods you hath filled her head with,” Beatrix mused. She pointed a white-gloved finger at the rabbit in the corner, her eyes bright. “Thou wish not to return home to her warren. Thou pine not for a time whereupon you were that girl’s guardian and teacher.”

The hare said nothing, merely reached into his pockets for another cigarette. The Lunarian went on pointing, filling the tiny house with her bombastic claims.

“You are wont to let her believe that, as is convenient, but truly, truly! Truly you wish to put all of this behind you. Long you stare into Luna at night, wishing only to heed her call. To shed your false earthly moniker, and once again be known as the golden sunlight hare! Am I wrong, Heart of the Sunrise?”

Galahad took a long puff from his cigarette, answering Beatrix’s claim with an exhausted stare. For even if everything she said was true, that dream had long gone from the hare’s mind. He looked toward the floor and shook his head in defeat.

“Is that all? I didst hope you at least would have the backbone to fly into a rage and throw me from your…” Beatrix paused to run her gloved finger down the wall, coming away with a small pile of dust, “home. Seems only common courtesy.”

“Feel free to show yerself out,” Galahad grunted, staring her down.

“As you wish,” Beatrix said firmly, holding her nose in the air. She began back toward the darkness she’d emerged, but as she crept away, she flit her gaze back to the hare and quickly added, “but what if I held what you seek? What if I knew thy way back home?”

Galahad glared at her. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“‘Tis true. Knowest I the currents, the stretch of stars that yet lead to Heaven above. Knowest I how to return thee, the prodigal sun, to his long-lost home,” Beatrix declared, each word more boastful than the last. “Doth thee not wish to go home? Be it not all you have ever wanted since you fell upon this muddy, miserable Earth, gold knight?”

“Get out,” the rabbit rumbled, his teeth grinding into the cigarette butt between his lips.

“Thou need only ask, Galahad. Climb aboard my starship, let us sail for the skies.”

“GET OUT!” Galahad thundered. He stomped in anger, the floorboard cracking under the force.

“I shall be waiting. Come, and we shall sail away,” the Lunarian calmly offered, her voice as quiet and wispy as the wind slipping under the door.

The shadows in the kitchen swelled, reaching from the corners to claim the Lunarian woman. They crawled over her form, swallowing her little by little until she was no more, and the blonde rabbit again stood alone on the damp, rotting carpet beneath him.

#moondust #short story #rabbits #writing

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married-world-blog · 5 years

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After PayPay’s announcement, the entire room is unbelievably silent. You can hear a pin drop. I am looking at Nkosinathi to handle this situation but that turns out to be an incredibly difficult task for him.

“Satane! Phuma la! Voetsek!” Mrs Buthelezi Senior attacks PayPay. She jumped from her seat to PayPay in a split second. Her husband has now assumed the position of his son: silent with his head in the palm of his hands.

“Hai bo mother-in-law, yini inkinga yakho?” Patience genuinely confused. I think she expected resistance but she definitely did not expect to be called the devil.

“Ubolile nondindwa ndini. Ufuze unyoko! Phuma la!” Mrs B.

I think the Buthelezi family knows something we all don’t know here.

“Nkosinathi, are you going to let this old hag talk to me like she has just been vomited out of a zoo?” PayPay. Yho guys, I want this girl’s balls.

“Mkhwenyana, this is what you disrespected my daughter with?! You took my daughter from esibayeni sakwaMageba to subject her to disrespect of this calibre?” My father says, genuinely disgusted.

“Nkosinathhi open your damn mouth and say something”, PayPay.

“Mommy, hit him. He only understands when you hit him”, Unathi adds her little two cents.

Hai cha, umhlolo kaZulu phela lo. Ithini le ngane?

Nkosinathi stands up and attempts to walk out. PayPay shoves him back in the house and he falls in between his parents. Nkosinathi’s mother loses her mind, goes from zero to 100 in a split second. She beats PayPay up like a real bull-fighter on the streets of Esinqawuqawini. Nkosinathi pulls his mother off his fiancé and the mother is breathing heavily. Her eyes show tell us that she wants to see PayPay bleed, paying for a sin only she knows about.

“Nkosinathi, khuza unyoko!” PayPay doesn’t back down neither. She rises from the ground and charges towards Mrs B.

Nkosinathi lets go of his mother and then shoves PayPay out of the house. He shuts the door, shutting PayPay and Unathi outside. Then he yells at his mother (because he is bewitched like that) saying, “mama yini ngawe?! Since when are you Baby Jakes?!”

“Ungazongijwayela kabi wena slima ndini. Sikutholela inkosikazi enengqondo wena ulanda i-last number yesifebe!” Mrs B yells.

“Come say that to my face you old bitch!” PayPay yells through the door while banging on it.

“Patience, awuthule man nawe. Jeez!” Nathi yells back at PayPay through the door.

My house has officially turned into umuzi wotshwala. I don’t know how to translate that into English.

“Nkosinathi Buthelezi, le nto odelela inkosikazi yakho yasebukhosini ngayo, beyilala nobaba wakho. Le ngane ayigudula yonke indawo ingane kababa wakho; that child is your sister. That is the kind of woman you are dealing with”, Mrs B says with tears in her eyes, and then walks off into one of the bedrooms in the house.

My mom is three minutes away from being on her knees and praying for the Holy Spirit to intervene. Mr B walks after his wife but we hear a door shutting in his face. The TV room is silent. To say that Nkosinathi is broken would be the understatement of the year. I don’t know if he will ever recover from this.

“Thandeka, thatha okwakho ngane yami. Siyahamba. Sidelelwe impela abakwaButhelezi. Ngizabe ngingeyena ubaba oqotho kuwena uma ngikushiya lana nabo la bantu. Asambe!” My father demands.

I hurry to me bedroom. I don’t have much to pack anyway because most of my stuff are in KZN. I pack what I can. I see my phone has a few whatsapp messages. It is Ikaneng checking up on me. I tell him that a family emergency has come up and I have to go back to KZN with my parents. He tells me that he will let Zelda know. Shooo, thank you Jesus. That one would have ate me up and spat me out.

“Ngicela ungahambi”, a voice creeps up on me. I turn around. It is Nkosinathi.

“Kumele ngihambe Nkosinathi. Ubaba usekhulumile”, I tell him.

“Ngizohlawula, khona manje”, he says.

“Umndeni wami is not for sale. You don’t just throw money at us and then my parents sell me to you. Who do you think you are? What do you take us for?” I tell him.

He is silent. He nods his head and then leaves the bedroom.

I take my bags and meet my parents in the TV room. I tell them I will drive in my car behind them. My dad insists that he will drive with me, my mother will drive back with our family driver. I do not hesitate.

When we step out, we see PayPay still standing outside of our door.

“Uphi uNkosinathi?” she asks me, giving me heavy attitude.

“Ungazongijwayela kabi wena”, me. I have strength now, my parents are here. Also, Mrs B is on my side because she has walked in my shoes before because of this unstable heffer.

“Uthini?!” PayPay out here trying to scare me with tears in her eyes and desperation of trying to ensure that she still has a man in Nathi.

“Ngithi ungazongijwayela kabi. You have done enough damage to this family. Go find your next victims”, I tell her.

“Mxm, ngizodelelwa yinto nje ayingasho lutho kimi nakuNathi. Awusuke endleleni yami”, she says as she pushes me out of the way.

“Don’t talk to my wife like that”, Nkosinathi comes to my rescue for the very first time.

“I am your fiancé Nkosinathi”, PayPay still trying to beg for a position in Nathi’s life.

“Not anymore. We are done. I don’t ever want to see you again”, Nkosinathi tells her.

“Nkosinathi”, PayPay tries to plead her case.

“Please leave”, Nkosinathi becomes even colder.

PayPay cries, he looks at Nathi in disbelief.

“Before everyone leaves…” Mrs B walks in and commands our attention.

“Nkosinathi, this woman is a prostitute. I am not sure if you are aware of that. She gave your father HIV. If you had unprotected sex with her and then also slept with umakoti, I strongly suggest that you both get tested”, Mrs B drops that bomb on us, face full of tears still, and then walks away.

“Baby…” PayPay trying to explain.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Nkosinathi yells this time.

I start crying. I am genuinely sad for him. Now I suddenly want to stay and be here for him.

“Asambe ngane yami”, my dad interferes with that intention.

We, oMageba, leave.

…

It took me the entire trip to explain to my father that I need to go to Durban and not eMnambithi (back home). It took me an hour after arriving in Durban to explain to my parents that they cannot sleep at my flat because it is a one-bedroom flat. They finally left and now I am by myself in my own space, trying to understand the intersections episode that has taken place between my husband, my father-in-law, and PayPay.

I call Ikaneng.

He picks up after two rings.

“Hello beautiful”, him.

“Hey”, me.

“What’s wrong?” him.

“It’s been a long day”, I say.

“I have been invited to a gala dinner tonight. How about you come out with me and we talk about it after we have drank the night away”, he suggests.

I giggle and say “sure”.

“I was hoping you would say that. I will pick you up in two hours”, him.

We hang up.

I start off by plaiting my own hair into simple cornrows so that I can throw on one of my wigs; yes, I do the wig life too.

I shower and get ready. The only nice “gala” like dress I have is black. I suppose one can never go wrong with black. I dress up, apply my make-up with the assistance of the YouTube make-up professionals, and I put on my wig. I am ready.

Ikaneng arrives just on time.

“You look incredible”, he tells me.

He looks delicious too. Let the truth be preached.

We go out, bump into senior management colleagues who are now side-eyeing me. Zelda was the sourest towards me. I guess I should have known that this would be coming out party for us.

I dont even remember what the gala event was all about. The only thing vivid in my mind is the hostile treatment I received and the careless whispers about me every corner I turned.

“You alright?” Ikaneng asks me as he notices that I’m not okay anymore.

“I think coming here was a mistake. I need to go”, I tell him, looking around and realising that I’m still being side-eyed. He follows my eyes and sees it too, except this time, when people see him look at them, they smile and look away.

“Let’s go. I’ll deal with this tomorrow”, him.

We leave the gala dinner and head to his house in Ballito. It’s a beautiful house. It’s twice as big as my flat with Nathi in Paulshoff.

It’s also one of those houses where you can tell that you are not the first woman to come in here. I can see it be a party house. But I also see it as a “loft” from that “the loft” movie. Girls chill here, dance here, sleep here, etc. As for men… this is Vegas for them.

“Drink?” He offers me a glass of wine.

I smile.

I accept the drink and we chill in the TV room and engage in a DMC.

“I don’t think anything outside of a professional relationship will work between us. The entire senior management team was on not too accepting of seeing us together tonight”, I express.

“Don’t worry about them. Let me be the one to deal with that. I want you to relax now. Please”, him.

After a few drinks, we make our way upstairs to his main bedroom. We make out and this time, I actually want to have sex with him. I’ll probably never have sex with Nathi and I don’t want to die a virgin.

“Make love to me”, I tell him.

He looks me, unsure of what to say.

“Are you sure?” He asks me.

I nod my head.

He lifts me off the ground and kisses me against a wall. My legs are wrapped around his waist as he keeps twirling me around the room, making my body connect with all sides and corners of the walls of this bedroom.

He is so hard. I can just tell that there is no turning back now.

I’m on the bed now. He is on top of me.

“Are you sure?” He asks me one more time.

“I’m sure.” I confirm.

He makes his way inside of me. It hurts a bit. But it’s not an excruciating kind of pain. My body flinches though.

He takes it easy. He is gentle. Eventually, my body curves at his penis and we are both comfortable. This is everything I thought it would be… from the movement, to the feeling, to our connection…

I have no regrets.

I feel him reach his happy ending.

I am happy.

I’m finally a woman.

I couldn’t have chosen a better man to share such a sacred part of me with.

We both passed out.

…

We are woken up by our cellphones vibrating out of control.

I have missed calls from my parents and Nkosinathi. He has missed calls from his brothers and Zelda. I also have a missed call from Zelda.

“Good morning”, him.

“Hey”, I say smiling.

We smile at each other.

“How are you feeling?” He asks me.

I giggle.

“Great”, I say.

We kiss.

“Ready for round 2?” Him.

I laugh.

“The whole world is trying to get hold of us. Can we at least find out why”, me.

“Fine”, he sulks a bit.

I laugh at him.

We take a shower together. I dress up in one of his tracksuits; baggy but I can work with it.

We go downstairs and find his brothers there.

“Ike, we have a problem”, Obusitse.

“I’ll give you guys some space”, I say.

“Good morning Thandeka. Sorry to disturb you guys so early in the morning. Its lovely to see you though”, Obusitse.

I smile.

I attempt to leave but Ikaneng holds my hand.

“What’s going on?” Ikaneng asks.

Obusitse gives us a newspaper.

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