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“Tweedles!” I scream through the alarm, taking off running. “I fucked up! I don’t think I’m sexy enough!” Pink floods from the alley up ahead, a wall of flamingos barring my exit. The klaxon shuts off, swapping for their deranged squawks and crazy stares from their blood red eyes. What the fuck did I do to piss off the flamingos? Thundering footsteps trample behind, closing me in as I spin, both arms raised to hold off any advances. Animals of all types draw to a halt behind me, all standing upright around my height with feather dusters, rolling pins or spatulas in their paws and claws.
“It’s about damn time you showed your face!” a wolf in granny’s nightdress and bedcap shouts. The sealion at her side barks in agreement, slapping her fins against her pot belly beneath a frilly floral dress.
“We’ve been waiting for years,” a red panda growls. Her fur is the same shade as the dots on her white cami, yet there’s no pants in sight. I respect that. Lowering my hands, I hold the range of beady eyes, ignoring how the flamingos take a menacing step forward.
“Look, I don’t know what you want but I’ve been trying to get back here since I left. Trust me when I say, it’s not as accessible as it may seem.”
“Enough small talk,” an army of hamsters, guinea pigs and meerkats shout in unison, breaking free from the wall of furry feet in dresses and heels.
Wow.
“Get on with it already!” another squeals and I push my lips together in an effort to not burst out laughing. The barred teeth between clumps of lipstick tells me they don’t mean to be entertaining, but damn do I wish I had a phone to record the crowd and die of fits of hysteria about it later. Soothing myself with even breaths, I pop my hip with a hand on it for extra sass.
“I’m going to need some context here chubby cheeks.” The whole crowd gasps, paws-to-chest in offence. For a bunch of predators, they sure seem touchy. Taking a final step forward, a flamingo stabs its beak into my spine and I bat it away.
“Don’t touch unless you’re willing to finish the job,” I smile at the narrowed beady eyes glaring back at me. A curved beak like that could open me right up to new pleasures and give me a pap smear at the same time.
Sheesh.
“Bring our men back!” an owl hoots, flapping into view and landing on the antlers of a domesticated moose. Pearl earrings dangle from her oversized ears while the brown fur off her huge chest is trying to break free of a frilly blouse. My eyes slide to the wooded hill beyond the town, figuring they mean the Tweedles.
“I mean…I’m really not that attached. They’re hot, sure, but you’re welcome to them. I’ve never really been one of those do-it-yourself or bully-me-into-submission types,” I shrug and apparently that’s the wrong answer. The animal housewives launch forward, rolling pins bashing me from the front while beaks peck at me from behind. Shrieking, I twist and grab a flamingo’s neck in my gloved hands, swinging it around wildly. Batting the crowd back, the bird continues to hammer at where the lace stops at my wrist until the skin breaks and a splatter of my blood coats its beak.
“Squawk!” the pink bird cries out. “She’s infected!” Everyone stops dead still, me included as the black-tipped beak begins to sizzle and steam. Eroding before my very eyes, the acidic blood splatter destroys everything it touches, a rogue splash burning through the flamingo’s forehead until its neck falls limply in my hands. I toss it aside, not wanting any part of the blame for this day light murder, even though everyone saw it.
“You-you’ve already drank from them,” a lemur stutters, her skirt swaying as she slinks back into the crowd until only her black and white ringed tail can be seen. “The vampires.”
“Vampires,” I snort, spotting a balloon floating overhead. It’s heavy, struggling to float more than an inch above our heads and on instinct, I remove Stan from behind my ear and throw him into it.Save yourself little buddy, bitches be crazy down here.
One touch of his claws and the balloon pops, pouring an unbelievable amount of water from its latex confinement. The street floods in an instant, waves gush between the buildings and sweeping me up in its flow. Somehow, the animals were prepared for such an instance, pulling toggles from their clothes to activate buoyancy jackets.
“Don’t trust the queen! Bring back our men!” is all I hear, the weight of the water dragging me under. Bubbles escape my mouth, my arms flailing to find the surface. Thanks to the dark ominous clouds, it’s impossible to tell which way is upright as another wave crashes me further through the street. Something sharp bites down on my toe and I lash out with my other foot, kicking the furry guinea pig beast off as my face breaches the water.
Gasping in lungsful of air, I catch sight of a shop set back from the rest. There’s no lights on within the hat-shaped windows. The water helps to wash away thick cobwebs spanning the doorway. Pinned onto a sign above, a green top-hat with 10/6 printed on the label and an extravagant peacock feather bowing out next to the calligraphy claims the shop as the Hattery.I gasp, fighting against the waves to swim in that direction but it’s useless.
Forced into the inky depths once more, I tumble in a heap of limbs and hair all the way to the edge of town where I’m suddenly spat onto the hard ground. I lie panting, staring upside down at the wall of water looming over me but not one drop crosses the threshold as if it’s tied to the town as much as the Step-heard Wives back there. Pulling myself upright, a tiny shadow inside the wave draws closer until Stan is also ejected, directly into the centre of my chest.
“Oh buddy, you’re shivering,” I stroke him, brushing droplets of water from his mocha-fur coat. Never mind the fact I’m also trembling; Stan is my main concern. Boots scuffle up behind me and before I can even guess who it might be a claggy throat clears.
“’Cuse me? Do you need a ride?” Deciding my eyes are deceiving me, I lean up on my elbows. A stumpy little woman stands before me, with miniature legs holding up her dwarfed frame, only to wobble side to side under the weight of her giant egg head. A wig of straw-like hair rests precariously upon her head, a yellow braid hanging limply either side. Her large brown eyes blink genuinely, her white gloved hand gesturing to the military of horses trailing down the path as far at the eye can see.
Upon each horse sits a solider in matching attire to the equestrian clothing mounted on their steeds. Checked with a club symbol in every white square. Plumes of black and white feathers flourish from their steel helmets, thousands of long eyelashes fluttering through the eyeholes in wait for my response.
“You’re all human and…female,” I breathe, tucking Stan safely into my damp hair.
“All the King’s horses and all the King’s men, at your service,” Little Humpty Dainty bows. I catch her as she threatens to topple over, standing to lift her onto my shoulders. “After all, the best type of men are wo-men.”
I laugh, the whimsical sounds drifting around us, piercing the darkness of the approaching night as I gesture for the lead horse to show me the way. I can just tell we’re going to be great friends.
12
Dry leaves crunch beneath the heavy sole of my boots, only my grasp on the horse’s rein guiding me onwards. He sure must love his carrots, being able to see in the dark and all - because I can’t see shit. The darkness of night settled before we entered the forest, trudging forward without a particular destination in mind. My neck cramped long ago from Humpty Dainty’s weight on my shoulders. Since when have eggs been so damn heavy?!
“Here’s good,” she finally announces and the horse comes to a swift halt. His rider disembarks and sets about rummaging around while I place Humpty Dainty on the ground, visions of a horse’s hoof smashing through her head plaguing my mind. At least it’s too dark to see the smirk that thought brought me. Not even I’m stupid enough to anger my savior. Not when my stomach is rumbling louder than the distant thunder.
A glow ignites before me, directing me to a clearing which the soldiers rush to provide seating for. Huge, heavy trunks slam on the ground, creating a hexagon, yet none of them sit. I do, though, with Humpty Dainty opposite.
“Set up camp,” she barks the order with a voice much harsher than the one that’s been singing nursey rhymes the whole way here. “Make sure our guest has a tent of her own.” My eyebrow rises and I nod to myself. Look who’s making healthy friendships for once. The fire grows, brightening the woodland around us.
