excerpt Horror March Hare Blues

Buy at www.cheshiregrinpublishing.com 

Chapter 1

Did you ever stop to think that death is the foreplay to Heaven? Sometimes I think that way. We all go a little crazy sometimes don't we? I know what it is to be crazy. I know exactly how it feels to see the inside of the mad houses with all of those frightening shadows of other inmates lurking somewhere... crazier than I. And possibly more dangerous... is that possible? To be more dangerous than Shawna March? Doubtful... as dark as my thoughts are... but very doable. I guess fear is not an option, but then I'm mad. We're all mad here, dear friend.

I'm here this time because Mr. March has Baker Acted me again. I never call my husband by his first name, which is John. I call him by his surname. He demands it at home... respect and all. I never have minded that either, because it's less intimate. This time I'm actually glad he put me in here. At least then I don't have to deal with him for a while. Mr. March is scarier to me than any institution anywhere. And that my friend includes the one for the criminally insane that he stuck me in the last time.

I look at the white, plush bunny that he sent me to remind me of him. I pick it up and I play with the ears. I cram my hand down as hard as it will go on the innocent blue-eyed plushy. It stares up at me helpless... just like she would have, had she been here. I yank as hard as is humanly possible for me. I whisper, “He loves me,” and the ear tears off. I yank the other ear with everything that's left in me. I say, “He loves me not.”

Is death the foreplay to Heaven? If no one comes back then who could ever solve that riddle? Can I solve it for myself right now? I see the blood on the plushy from where the wires in the ears have cut my hands. It spatters on the innocent bunny face in streaks of dismay and poisonous brooding. I watch the blood trickling, making patterns of love and hate across those lovely, blue eyes of hers and I laugh out loud. We're all mad here, dear friends.

* * *

Dr. Polanski Ph.D , Psy.D audio taped session August 15

Polanski’s voice: Ms. March why do you think you're in here?

Shawna March: Because he wants it that way.

Polanski : Who does?

Shawna: Mr. March. He says I'm crazy. (giggles, inaudible mumbling) All the men are crazy.

Polanski: Do you view me as crazy?

Shawna: Are you a man? Duh... all men are crazy. You too probably. Maybe I'm really a man and that's why I'm nuts. Who knows?

Polanski: Tell me why you think you're crazy Ms. March. Who told you that?

Shawna: Well I'm in here. I must be. Everyone I ever knew said I was.

Polanski: Define everyone.

Shawna: When I saw her I knew. I knew Mom was right all along. I can't even screw up correctly. (laughter, moan, soft weeping)

Polanski: When you saw her? Who's her? Do you mean your mother?

Sounds of crashing, glass breaking

Polanski's voice loudly: Mrs. March! Control yourself! Security! SECURITY!

Shawna: Anybody ever tell you that you ask too many fucking questions?!

(Glass breaking, muffled voices, door opening,)

* * *

Well hello, there. I'm a white rabbit. Just a little plushy turned pink now with blood. Or at least that's what you believe of me. You think that in this story, I'm the victim, right? That is very funny to me, actually. Are you certain of it? As certain as you are of your own name?

Okay, well perhaps you are 100% correct in saying that. After all, I did just get my ears torn out of my head. As you the voyeur watched from behind the scenes, I was attacked. Heinously, unprovokedly attacked. That makes me the victim. Doesn't it? I guess you're right.

The thing about stories is that they are very much like life. Truth, not unlike beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Truth is very subjective. If you are given only one scene from life you will believe that any action and or reaction is the truth. But just like when the Great and Powerful Garbonzo pulls me out of a hat, it could just be that you're distracted. It could just be that you don't know the whole story and so you can't judge because you're looking elsewhere. Could be? All of life's little magic tricks work that way, right? Does life work that way? How about death? And would it surprise you to know that I in fact am not the hapless victim you've been led to believe?

I could be the villain. I could be a real life person, or even a dream. I could be a crazy alien that's taken over her mind, or a parasite that's wiggled itself into her ear as she slept and am in the act of chomping my cute little parasite way right through the core of her brain. I could be an illness, or an angel. Maybe I'm an angel taking her abuse and gently watching over her from afar. Say! That's a nice one. Let's go with that one shall we? Hmmm. I can see by your reaction now that you aren't quite as certain whether or not I am angel or villain, sinner or saint, real or make-believe. Ta-Da!

I think it'd be an awful lot of fun to keep it that way for now. After all if you're looking straight at me, you might miss all of the Great Garbonzo's other tricks. What a boring show that'd make for. Well, I have to get going for now. By my pocket watch I can see that it's time to boogie on down the rabbit hole. Follow at your own risk.