A Plague of Hearts by Patrick Whittaker (best large ereader .TXT) 📖

throw the people out of their apathy, unite them in a common cause.
He doubted it.
He was on his way home, determined to leave behind all the insanities he had witnessed these past few days. As he approached the Pleasure Garden, the ground beneath his feet seemed to give a gentle quiver.
He paused, looked around.
In the east, the sky was tinged with a vermilion glow. He took this to be a result of the Queen’s attack on the Bunker. In fact, it was an indication of the strength of the Spadisher forces camped outside Enigma. Though he did not know it, the March Hare was looking at the light from a thousand camp fires.
He pushed on towards the Pleasure Garden, entering it through a gap in the hedge. Overhead, a monkey-puzzle tree sliced the moonlight into irregular shapes and cast them upon a bed of shadow.
The March Hare followed a path that meandered between a row of trees. Succulent fruit hung heavy on their limbs, and he reached up to sample some. Something nipped his paw. He jumped back with a yelp, realising too late that he had been attempting to pick a crab apple.
A voice called his name.
The Duchess of Langerhans came running down the path towards him, blue smoke trailing from the cigarette in her mouth. Her movements seemed to defy the laws of motion. The March Hare watched in rapt fascination. It was only by picturing a great wave rolling in from the sea that he could persuade his senses that something so vast could move with such speed and grace.
She waved frantically. ‘Come quick!’ she cried. ‘It’s the Caterpillar. Something dreadful has happened!’
Slipping out of his lethargy, the March Hare broke into a sprint. The Duchess turned abruptly and led him through a wicket gate and over a small, bubbling brook. Ahead lay the mushrooms.
The March Hare passed the Duchess, leapt over a bed of azaleas.
The Duchess called from behind. ‘He’s under the purple mushroom. Be careful - it could be infectious!’
The Caterpillar’s hookah lay on the grass beside his sunglasses and beret. Detached from their owner, they had lost their character and become ordinary.
A great sac of silk hung from the purple mushroom. It swayed slightly in the breeze and glistened like dew. The Duchess and the March Hare stood side by side. The former’s eyes blazed with wonder and fear.
‘He did it himself,’ she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. ‘I begged him to stop, but he kept saying it was the will of God. Oh dear. I hope he hasn’t suffocated.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘This evening. Just a few hours ago. I’ve been running around ever since, trying to get somebody to come and look at him. But nobody seems interested. This is terrible! This is the most dreadful thing I have ever known.’
The March Hare touched her arm. ‘It’s not dreadful, Your Grace. This is something wonderful.’
‘Whatever can you mean? Where is his splendid face and his magnificent body? What has he done to himself?’
Before the March Hare could begin to explain, the cocoon shuddered. A hand-sized piece of it came loose and fell to the ground. Then began an insistent crunching like an army of marching ants.
The Duchess put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened even further.
Part of the cocoon fell in on itself, exposing something damp and moving. The crunching became frantic, increasing its tempo from a march to a mad gallop. The March Hare had to resist an impulse to run forward, to break up the cocoon with his paws. This was something he felt he could not intrude upon.
With unbearable slowness, the hole grew, revealed more and more of the creature inside. A black antenna inched its way out and probed the night air.
Then a head appeared.
Multi-faceted eyes blinked in the faint light, then described an arc as if slowly taking in the glory of their surroundings. A smile revealed satisfaction.
The creature gave a sudden convulsion and pushed itself free of the cocoon. As it lay on the grass, it slowly unfurled wings that were six feet across and filled with rainbows. Moisture ran through the gullies between the scales.
The Duchess gasped. ‘You’re a butterfly!’
‘You got it in one, sister,’ said the Butterfly.
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Baby, we’re all beautiful. It’s just that most of us keep it hidden.’
‘How wonderfully, wonderfully delicious!’
‘You wouldn’t happen to have seen my shades, would you?’
The March Hare picked them up from the grass. ‘Here they are.’
The Butterfly smacked his lips. ‘That’s cool. Now if you’d care to assist a dude with no hands by putting them on my face, that would be just dandy.’
‘Of course.’
The sunglasses still fitted. They seemed as much a part of the Butterfly as his wings.
‘Hey,’ said the Butterfly. ‘That’s much better. Without my shades, I feel naked.’
‘Do you want your beret?’
‘Thanks, man - but no. I guess I’ve outgrown it.’
‘My dear Butterfly,’ said the Duchess, regaining her composure. ‘I ought to be extremely cross with you for giving me such a fright. However, under the circumstances, I can only say that you’ve made me a happy woman. You’re magnificent, my dear sir. Quite magnificent!’
‘You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.’
The Duchess blushed. Great continents of fat, fired by flattery, glowed like the setting sun. ‘How terribly kind. I feel as if I have just been blessed by the heavens themselves.’
‘Cool,’ said the Butterfly. ‘You have some real mellow vibes there.’
The March Hare came to a decision. ‘I really have to go now.’
‘Go?’
‘I’m pretty exhausted. And I have things to do.’
The Butterfly looked up at the moon. ‘To be is to do. And the more we do, the more we become. Until one day we’re finally everything we were always meant to be.’
‘You think so?’
‘Absolutely. Why doubt it?’
‘Because most people never seem to get that far.’
‘We all get there. That’s the easy part. The trick is knowing that you’re there.’
The March Hare wasn’t sure that he agreed. His head was spinning and for all he knew the Butterfly might have said something truly profound. On the other hand, it could all be bullshit. ‘I really do have to go now.’
‘Same here,’ said the Butterfly.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘When God gives you wings, you fly! I’m off to the moon.’
‘Gosh,’ said the Duchess of Langerhans. ‘How wonderful!’
‘You said it, lady!’
With a joy that only the truly free can know, the Butterfly launched himself into the mysteries of the night sky. The stars drew him on.
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Publication Date: 04-09-2010

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