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I believe my favourite type of weather is rain. Not a drizzle or a shower; no, the kind that transforms still space into a curtain of moving water, which in turn changes the world about you into blurred blotches of half-blended paint. Every thing is brightened for being there.
The raindrops would be a tumultuous mix of hot and cold. The water was borrowed from what could be called a rainshower in the Looking-Glass Lands. The drops were pulled out of the ground there; slowly at first, but soon at an alarming rate. The drops would reach the masses of cloud and the plant's thirst would be quenched. The Looking-Glass Lands were always backwards. Indeed, it was the first thing one marked upon travelling there.
The Oraculum had revealed to us the arrival of thundershowers that afternoon, during which I stood idly before the window in Thackery's kitchen. Admittedly, I rushed to it when I heard the beginnings of an Underlandish storm; a moment (or two, if Time was feeling kind) of pattering before an utter downpour. Now I stood watching the rain. The water lent the grass a soothing shine, the vibrant flowers drinking in the drops thirstily. The kitchen was small and cozy. Abruptly, a flash of light sliced the liquid curtain and I saw the lightning burst forth from the monster's mouth, throwing up a haze of dirt and charred grass when it struck the ground. I took the reins of the horse. There was another burst of lightning, closer, searing the forest and the leaves and the grass and the ash into white contrast for just a second. The horse wouldn't budge. Too frightened. I put all of my weight into pulling him away, but he bucked, and I fell, so I got up. There was nothing for it. Flames now, and I remember shoving onwards and drawing in a sharp breath without meaning to. The dry heat burnt my throat and made it ache; I tasted putrid smoke and my grunts rasped against my throat and I hadn't REALISED, hadn't realised I had sunk to the floor on my knees, hadn't realised I was clasping my hands together, hadn't realised how my eyes stung and I was in Thackery's kitchen, by the window, watching the rain.
Thunder echoed over the wild heartbeat in my head. "What," I breathed, looking round. I cannot emphasise this enough: I was in Thackery's kitchen, by the window, watching the rain. It struck the walls dull in a fraying roar. The bones of my hands complained in my nervous grasp. I pulled myself to my feet, gripped the window-sill before my knees could give out. "What?" I asked myself again. It wasn't a memory, it was more than that. It was a vision. Thinking quickly, I concluded that it was an entirely rare occurrence that wasn't worth worrying every one over. I did not wish to put forth such appalling weakness, that a mere phantasm could disturb me so.
However, it was at this moment that I heard a voice behind me: "Hatter?" It made me startle horridly. My nails dented the wooden window-sill. "What's the matter, Hatter? Chess got your tongue?" Mally snickered at her own jest. I didn't answer; I had not the breath. "You can tell me," implored Mally with a worriedly tone to her voice. "I only want to help, all right?" I didn't turn.
"Mally. Please, just leave, will you?" My hoarse voice didn't aid my case.
"Hatter--"
"Mallymkun!" I snapped, and heard her skitter out of the room. An apology would be in order, but that concern was pushed into the back of my mind; my body which had been quivering with fear was now shaking with rage. There was nothing for it. The consuming, permeating fury frightened the reasonsome fraction of my brain. How would I hold back such shocking anger? I was simply too mad. Mallymkun was speaking to some one in the corridor.
"I knew it," said Chessur, smugly; and that was it. I marched out to the corridor, seething, and demanded that he repeat himself.
"I knew it, Tarrant. I'm only stating facts," he purred. "I fear you've quite lost your--"
This time, I managed to get a hold of Chessur's throat before he disappeared.
I am not proud of what I did next. I lost control. Properly frightened, Chessur used his evapourating abilities to briefish shape-shift into my form and push me into the hall-closet with his newfound strength. I cursed him at first, but soon dissolved into wordless screaming in my frenzy. I beat the door and tried the door-knob, but Chessur had locked me in. The unwelcome sound of Thackery bickering with Chessur filtered through the door.
When eventually the door creaked open tentative, I stood swayingly, exhausted by my fit. I felt like myself once more. My hands ached where my pounding the door had bruised them, and my throat burned. Mally entered alone, tail dragging on the ground behind her. She met my eye, and I noted how persistently she endeavoured to appear calm: her bony chest puffed out, her head held high.
"What happened, Hatter?" she asked. "I had a vision," I wished to say, but in stead I shook my head.
"Are you sure you don't want to say?" I nodded. Mally nearly spoke, but decided to beckon me to kneel down to her level. She placed a tiny white paw on my knee. "Listen... Whatever this is, whether you're just bein' angry or some thing else, you can talk to us, okay? We won't go turnin' our backs on you. Or at least, I won't." Her concern was comforting. Suddenly, returned to myself, I feared tears if I opened my mouth to speak. So I simply nodded. Sensing my distress (and, perhaps, my uneasiness to speak the truth), Mally carried on in that way, voice hushed as though she was talking to herself only. I knelt in the rain-dimmed light and listened to her as the belligerent voices of Thackery and Chessur debated the fact or non-fact of my madness. I listened because even though Mally, absent-minded and innocent, was lying, her words were a solace in the dark.
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