The Croquet Rebellion
After I left the rose tree in the garden, the Queen shouted, “Do you play croquet, Alice?” Fearful, I said yes.
I had never seen such an odd croquet-ground before--the balls were hedgehogs; the mallets, flamingoes. But I grasped a flamingo and tucked its body under my arm, its legs hanging like the pink tendrils of a tropical vine. I straightened its neck for hitting, and was just about to give the hedgehog a thwack with it, when to my dismay, the bird’s head twisted aside and spoke to my furry ball: “I’m sorry to do this, little hedgehog. We flamingoes don’t enjoy hurting you, but the Queen always threatens to pull off our wings if we don’t. She says flamingoes can’t really fly anyway.”
The hedgehog uncurled itself and said with great dignity, “Thank you. All these years, all we wanted was an apology,” it sniffed. “But I’m not staying here to be a victim—we’re going to organize to do something about our unfair working conditions.”
Then the hedgehog ran off, much to my surprise. The playing cards that had been croquet arches were also nowhere to be seen, so I dropped my flamingo to the ground.
The Queen was approaching, bellowing as usual about beheading everyone. Afraid for my life, I looked around for escape. I noticed an odd shadowy glimmer emerging above a nearby tree. A smile materialized there—it was the Cheshire Cat! Now I would have someone to complain to.
Before I could say anything the Cat said, “Alice, come to our meeting! I’m the union organizer. We’re going to discuss our demands for better working conditions for croquet objects.”
So I followed it to the meeting, held in a far corner of the garden, hidden by rose trees and bushes. The croquet workers had gathered together into a large crowd, squawking and snuffling loudly.
“Let the Cat speak! He’s our Head!” said a flamingo over the commotion.
“Greetings, comrades and friends,” said the Cat. “Come to order! First item on our agenda--grievances.”
An old hedgehog raised its paw and hobbled up front to speak. “I’ve worked here for many years. My memory is bad, and I have terrible headaches from the traumatic brain injury I suffered from my long employment as a croquet ball,” it said. “And I have PTSD from watching my fellow comrades who refused their employment and servitude to the Queen beheaded or eaten by the Queen’s courtiers.”
“Hear, hear!” cheered a group of hedgehogs nearby, raising their fisted paws in solidarity.
Next a flamingo hopped up, saying “My neck is severely deformed and I have chronic spinal misalignment, as well as psychological trauma from survivor guilt. If we continue to work, I would insist on sensitivity training for the entire court about wing insults, and timely spoken trigger warnings before threats of decapitation from the Queen.”
Then a card soldier who had been a croquet arch complained about the debilitating hand and foot pain he endured from always bending over.
The Cat said, “”Well spoken, all! I propose a sit-down strike against our oppressors!”
“But we can’t sit properly,” a flamingo pointed out shrilly.
“Nonetheless,” said the Cat. “Let’s put it to a vote!”
The hedgehog held up its paw, the flamingo fluttered its wing. I raised my hand in solidarity with the workers, saying “I support your right to self-determination….”
Suddenly there was a loud rustling noise, the green branches of our hiding place were hacked with swords and thrust aside. A cadre of card soldiers followed by an angry Queen marched in upon us.
“Off with their heads!” said the Queen, shaking with fury. “This meeting is illegal—no unions are allowed in my kingdom.”
“Off with your head” said the Cat’s head to her, swooping down and biting her with its sharp teeth. The flamingoes chortled, clawing her until she stumbled and fell. Then the hedgehogs climbed onto her shoulders and chomped away, gnawing her neck until her head finally came loose and fell to the ground.
All of her subjects rejoiced, whooping, squealing and honking. “Huzzah!” they cried, dancing in celebration.
Then I noticed the Cat’s head had disappeared, leaving only its wide, now bloodied grin.
“Tennis, anyone?” it said.
Lorraine Schein’s work has appeared in VICE Terraform, Strange Horizons, Enchanted Conversation, and Mermaids Monthly, and in the anthology Tragedy Queens: Stories Inspired by Lana del Rey & Sylvia Plath. The Futurist’s Mistress, her poetry book, is available from Mayapple Press.