Lucia Stamac'

This is the diary of a prisoner,

if you could say that my golden cage is captivity. I would call it captivity and suffering.

I'm neither allowed nor able to leave these walls, even though the door of my West wing is not locked.

What keeps me here is no iron or any locks it is the absolute fear.

The most pure kind of fear.

Shall I call it fear of life or fear of death?

Well, I don't value my life much, but still I have a survival-instinct, if that is what you could call it.

My name is Kaleigh William Anthony Richard Eric Foremar and the events written on this parchment will be a detailed portrait of the story of the Foremar-Mension.

Am I insane?

This might be the next question you ask me, dear reader, if anybody might ever read this when I am long since gone...

This question must be answered with a loud and enthusiastic 'YES!'

Let us say that I am still sane enough to write a reliable report, for though to bring my father and my Uncle Derrick... and maybe my Uncle Donovan as well, even though last mentioned did not do anything more than to protect his own life, to justice.

I am fourteen years old, now... Am I an extraordinary child though to write such a report?

I don't think so, but this is not the point.

The point is that I know the truth.

I know that all this is a conspiracy.

I know that out there, apart from this old Manor is a world... apart from my world that is far greater than any of the Foremars would expect. A world that is gleaming and glittering, shining and roaring. A world that is full of art and culture...

I know the truth...

I know what I have seen..

I know what I have heard...

I know where I've been...

I know the truth...

But I know too, that it is a lot easier to declare the lad insane, because he knows the truth... A truth that nobody is supposed to know, like nobody is supposed to hear the screaming from the cellar as well as nobody wants to hear them.

But like I said, I know.

I am telling about this events from my memory, up to the point of today, how real or detailed they might be, I don't guarantee that... for though I am insane...

Yes, I am insane, I am crazy...

Insanity is fun, one can use that one isn't taken serious to tell the truth.

The only question that remains is, who is reading between the lines and who is paying enough attention to the words of a babbling lunatic to hear the truth out of his phrases?

But what is truth, what is realisation?

Larger minds must have thought about this question already...

'London bridge is falling down' my friends.

Now lean back and enjoy my tragicomic story and may I sincerely ask that you remember you see this story through the eyes of a lunatic... have you ever looked though the eyes of a lunatic?

Where I stand and stare, I see trees of red and yellow and blue and peculiar animals even when I am in a closed room...

So please do me a favour and take this last piece of advice very serious.

Don't take all that I say serious.

Information about the Author:

As I already have mentioned my name is Kaleigh Foremar, equally known as the Hatter.

I'm the oldest son, of Astoria Foremar, seed of the incestuous relationship between her and her brother Ordan, which makes him my father. I furthermore have two Uncles and six siblings, this makes us a family of eleven persons.

My brother Alexis, which is an albino, as I have read in a book, is the oldest after me, then Brandan follows, he is a retard, then the twins Saphires and Chariot, my youngest brother Adan and my baby-sister Theresa.

We live at a Mansion in the hills of the village Heavgate.

Nobody, except me, my Father, my uncle Donovan and my uncle Derrick has ever left the grounds of the old Foremar-manor...

And now this is the perfect link to the beginning of my story.

Do thee, dear reader, see the anonymity in the last sentence?

Indeed... me!

I am the only child that has ever left the grounds...I've seen the world outside as I was a fugitive.

Even my siblings think me mad when I tell them of different people with strange skin-colour and colour of the hair and of the tellies that are projecting pictures that seem so real.

I once was a fugitive and this try of escape sealed my judgement, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Outside this walls the calender shows the year 2005 but here at the grounds it's writing 1878.

I'll be using the more comfortable kind of number for the reader which will be 2005...

So this record starts at the 15th January 2005.

Enjoy the show.

Let us start where this is supposed to begin, for though I can tell the story as your host and shall we say guide for the adventure you are about to undertake... At this point we need to travel back in time for about half a year.

Half a year is not a long time in my book because my life was stasis before and it is stasis once more now, as I am back in the walls of the mansion.

Still these six months were the most interesting time I ever had in my life, but apart from that I do regret a little bit that I've told my brother Alexis that I was going to leave...

The fugitive I was the second when I left the grounds of the Foremar-Mansion became part of my personality forever...

Before I left, I was synonymous with the philosophic term of the Tabula Rasa.

Knowing the world only from the stories of my grandfather as I believed them Fairy-tales.

Before my Leaving I was a naïve lad, knowing nothing else than the knowledge that was permitted by my father as the things we, children, were supposed to know.

We, including me, thought it was 1877, shortly before the industrial revolution.

I had history books, but they were ending at the year of 1800.

And I had a classic education of an English noble in that time. I learned social behaviour, dancing riding a horse, writing, reading and a limited frame of biology.

I learned about the posh attitude of being a noble.

And the contact I had with 'society' in general was quite brief, and not at all satisfying.

Being a fugitive changed me to the bottom of my heart to be honest.

It was the adventure I heard call from afar and I felt the inner passion and the fire...

I knew it was right, so I left.

I knotted bedsheets together and climbed out of the window, with only some clothes my sketchbook, a repertoire of pencils and a little money I had stolen from one of my uncles in my bag.

When I touched earth I ran like hell. My heart was hitting my throat.

I ran.. I ran towards freedom, not knowing that the cameras were filming me, not even knowing what cameras were at that time...Up till now I still don't know how they are working anyway.

Be certain, dear reader that this entry will be relatively sane from your point of view, but I cannot give any guarantee if this will stay throughout this diary.

Anyway to come back to the story, I ran until I was certain that no soul had followed me.

The moment I left the manor past the gates, I was shot into- and hit by the- modern world mercilessly.

In the same second I realised that my grandfather had been right.

All these things were really real. Just to get this clear, I never have seen an auto mobile before, or as you would call it a car...on the street.

I never had seen before that youths were listening to silent music with cables in their ears.

It was night and at dawn I had reached the next village, where I went for the train.

I knew what trains were, trains were something I could cling to, even though they were more modern than in my imagination.

I aimed for London.

My grandfather has been talking of London.. and now I considered newly what he had told me, because his son had said that he was a senile old man.

London was his favourite city...

"London, King's Cross, London King's Cross, Welcome fellow passengers!"

A voice declared that scared me because I couldn't find its source.

It must have been a peculiar picture that I gave...

A blonde thirteen-year-old with long hair, wearing not jeans and tennis shoes, but fine wardrobe. Black pants, black shoes that complimented a suit, a black coat over a white shirt.

Wide eyed I was standing there, clapping my bag to my chest, looking around the train station.

I was afraid of all the people around me... They looked so out of order from my point of view, that it shattered all my perceptions.

I need to say that the further descriptions might be a little confusing but I need to point out that my knowledge is very very limited.

What is following now is the best I can offer... My medium aren't words but pictures, I will add some pictures, of course but at another point.

So I was just standing there, stranger in a strange land.

And I didn't know a thing of this world I was going to live in.

But still it was the lesser evil to learn than to go back... home... if home is what you would or could call it.

I swore to myself that I would set my siblings and my mother free, but this was step five before step one...

Again... I am getting ahead of myself...

Again.. there I stood and finally I know why I always go ahead of myself... because I fear regressing to the point of numbness and defeat I had been then. I knew nothing and I had no idea of what I should do or where I should go, in the first place.

First and foremost I needed a place to stay and something to eat and I knew that I needed money to get to those things. I had spend the money I had stolen for the trip to London...

I am a passionate reader and as a preparation for the trip I had added some adventure stories to my repertoire as well as a plan of London...

Some of the stories proofed quite useful.

Still, I felt disoriented... if that is not fairly underestimated.

I wandered though the city, trying to take it in and making sense of it...all the colours and the vivacity made me go almost mad... I was lost in the pleasure of the moment.

It suddenly hit me and I stood and stared... I WAS FREE...

I WAS FREE TO GO WHEREVER I LIKED... I was free free free...

Free... like a bird...

I laughed my head off until my belly hurt and laid down on the lawn in the bright sunlight of Covent Garden.

I am not certain if I do believe in fate... If a thing like fate is real, it is a bitch.

Oh sorry, I shouldn't be saying that.. It is impolite towards fate... but it seemed to have been a very fateful day there in Covent Garden, which should become my favourite place, while being in London, with it's small cafés and music everywhere, oblivious to fear and loathing and to any kind of violence.

This place was pure heaven, with all the artists sitting in long rows before the picturesque fronts of the houses, picturing the crowd or portraying tourists.

There were restaurants in gapes! Like you walk towards a railing and you'd expect to see some filthy backyard, but what you see is a neat little restaurant with a musician playing his instrument, a narrow staircase leading downstairs.

Above me there was a wide glass roof and all in all Covent Garden impressed me, if you know what I mean, fellow reader...

Only for Covent Garden London has deserved the term, beautiful city.

Anyway, what caught the greatest part of my attention were those artists, not to mention all the other things Covent Garden had, a large market and souvenir shops and much more,

I was dragged to them, watched them draw and it hit me like a bomb.

They were drawing for money... And I needed money, I needed money desperately, because I knew that I wouldn't get old in this city if I wasn't having something to eat at least, because my stomach was empty already... Even if I cannot tell many good things about my home, I can tell that I always had enough to eat.

I could draw... And I was loving to do it.

And I was smart... well if I may be bold enough to say that I am more than smart to be precise, it didn't take much intellect to be sure what I was going to do.

I took my sketchbook and the pencils out of my bag and sat down onto a small wall, after I had oriented for a price.

I had simply looked on the prices of the other artists... That I was needing a permission to be earning money there, was no thing of my interest, neither did I even know that such things existed.

But I was a lucky one that day...

I wrote a sign that declared: Come and be portrayed in less than fifteen minutes... 20 pounds a piece.

I drew a few faces out of the crowd as no costumers were coming, as I thought about that I should have some examples to let the people see my stile.

I didn't have and luck in the first two hours and my stomach was roaring already... I was hungry.

But then, as I almost had given up hope already, while the other artists had models au mas, I caught the attention of a French couple.

I understand French, though I am not good at speaking it. Like I said words aren't my perfect medium.

Don't forget, I am a child...

I must have woken some kind of parental instinct in them as I sat there, all alone.. I must have seemed a little lost.

I was certain that they didn't really believe that I, myself, had drawn my examples that were lying before me.

"Would you draw us?" the man asked, he spoke English with a very strong French accent.

"I would be honoured, sir." I said...

"Look how polite he is, Marie..."

I didn't think that I had been especially polite, this was my normal kind of talk...

But I thought that prudence silence was wise sometimes and so I just smiled and took sketchbook and pencil into my hands.

"Would you step back two or three steps and put an arm around your wife's shoulders, dear sir."

They did as I asked... nobody ever had done as I had asked before.

And so I started drawing, being within my element.

I was like in trance, later I should learn that this was normal for artists.

The given picture made them stunned.

"Incredíble, Mon dieu... So you really.." The man was out of words and that confirmed my assumption that they had underestimated me.

"Why should I decorate myself with foreign feathers?" I asked flatly... I could use that they were so stunned...

"This is art!" He drove a hand through his hair and put his glasses on... "Increíble... The leading of the pencil, it is making perfect sense, this is a composition, all composed after the principle of the golden section... where have you learned this lad? This is art..." His wife was wordless while he was babbling.

"What is your name?" she finally asked looking at me like I was an alien.. I stood up and bowed... "My name is Kaleigh Anthony Richard Eric Foremar, Madam..."

"So Kaleigh?" My name sounded cute in her accent I didn't like that...

"May I sincerely ask, what your names are and what your intention might be?" I replied asking..."Lovely, Marie, isn't he lovely?"

"Oui, Louis, he is." They looked at each other a long moment then the man called Louis looked at me smiling..."My name is Louis de Louisianan and this is my wife Marie, and I think you and I have to have a talk... You are blessed with talent... and your talent is wasted here in the streets of Covent Garden...Come on, pack your things...

"Yeas, Sir..."

Don't follow strangers... Yeah I was never taught that... But I didn't care either, so I followed them.. "Don't call me sir. My name is Louis... "

"Very well, Master Louis."

"Not Master Louis... just Louis."

"It is impolite to call a person only by the first name, Sir.."

"But I am calling you Kaleigh as well.."

"I am a young lad, so this is appropriate, but you are older than me and so I prefer to pay you the appropriate respect."

They looked confused for a moment. But then they seemed to decide that they wouldn't stress that any further.

"Take a seat." he said as I waited that they sat down, before I did as I was told, in a small café.."

"Order what you like...I'll pay."

"I cannot accept that, dear sir..."

"I say you can, and you will.."

I took that as an order, I was not trained to refuse any kind of orders, even though I had refused the order to stay at home, anyway...

I ordered a cup of black tea with milk, even though my stomach protested but they gladly didn't hear it.

"Where are you from?" They asked as they had ordered as well.. cake and coffee..

"I am from nowhere, sir...How do I get the honour of this invitation?"

Louis smiled, somehow appealed by my humbleness.

"Well, I am professor of art at the University of London, my dear... And you, lad, are a genius.."

"A genius, Sir?"

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen, Sir...I am honoured that you find my works... appealing..."

"Appealing is caught quite low... do you have an address or a phone number, an email address?"

I looked at them as they were speaking Greek.

"A...phone...number... an email address?"

Understanding dawned slowly at Louis face, I was a complete foreigner to this world.

"Do you have a place to stay, for tonight, Kaleigh?"

"No, sir..." I said avoiding his gaze...

"Where are your parents, Kaleigh..?

"I have none... " I lied.. "I am a fugitive..."

"Who is chasing you?"

"Bad people, sir..."

"C'est pas possible!" Marie exclaimed.."We'll take you in.."

Louis looked at her.. She said something in fast French that I didn't understand...

He answered in fast French.

This really was my lucky day...

"For though I am professor at the university, I will see if I can get you a place at the art-department my little genius..."

I knew what a university was, Derrick and Donovan had been at the University of London to become a lawyer and a doctor...

Still I did not understand these things then...

If you ask me today if this time was worth the sentence I got for it, I would say yes, because I wouldn't be me and I wouldn't have this view on the world, that I have now.

I'll give you a summary how this went on and I'll stop to recount dialogues further...

Not because I do not remember them... I never forget a thing... Louis told me that I had an Eidetic mind, that I had the perfect cognition, and therefore noticed all possible things.

But I will not recount any further because the thought hurts.

I miss them.

I miss these days.

One of the rare emotional reactions I have...

Anyway, the following days were the best of my life.

I sucked in life, I blossomed, and realised that I had been in winter-mode all my life.

I got drunk on the vivacity of London...

Louis didn't ask why I didn't know all this things.

He always said: "A genius filters knowledge, down to the essential part. To the things he really needs."

I didn't complain... I didn't want to talk about my family.

Louis taught me about a month. I was a quick learner and then he decided that I was ready for joining the university.

My first day at the campus is my brightest and happiest memory.

I still live from it in my darkest hours.

Even though it is hard to do so as well.

The university is a source of knowledge... for an artists eyes, if it's not to bold to say that I am an artist it has an aura of Serenity and Divinity.

I got out of the car with Louis...

"If you have any questions, come and see me in my office, my door is always open to you." He told me. "I see you in the afternoon, Marie will prepare steak for dinner.."

I looked at him... he was more of a father than my father had ever been to me.. "Thank you Louis."

He smiled. "No problem."

I cannot, and will not tell you anything more... because the things that followed are very private, and I am not the kind of person that would mourn about feelings, neither tell about them.

I will only say that I learned what true happiness meant.

It didn't take me long to adapt to that world, even though I still do not understand every part of it.

These tellies are still creepy to me... But anyway.. I truly was happy..

But it seems to be that the best things in life are ending in the fastest and most cruel way.

I had chosen Summer of 2004 for my attend of escape and the following five months were pure heaven. I was free to go wherever I liked, I was free to learn and I was studying at the university of London with only thirteen years.

Louis told me that this was special, because only were gifted children could be studying so early.

I shifted mindlessly from one day to the next. Painting, impressing my teachers with my works, having friends the first time in my life.

Being loved, being accepted.

But then.. at the night of Christmas, which should be the first loving Christmas, and the last as well, they came for me.

I had turned fourteen on the 6th of November, which was my birthday... I didn't know that birthdays are celebrated.

Marie and Louis became family to me. Family is not always born sometimes it's found.

But I signed their death warrens.

At night they came for the hatter.

They came for him to shatter,

what he had found

and there only was the sound

of breaking bone and bloody flesh

As he woke he performed the mad dash.

But rabbit and crawler caught him...

"This is your fault" they told him.

As the red painted the floor,

and left was nothing more.

Life is so fragile,

and they took him away mile for mile,

The King of Hearts laughed awfully

as he smashed a head carefully.

He forced the hatter to look,

His head he violently shook,

but it was held and kept in place

and the hatter was lost in space.

He had been a child before

but there was now nothing more.

There was no childishness therefore,

he was cold down to his core.

It's your fault, it's your fault,

He was taken to the vault.

"This is where you will stay."

And the King just went away.

"Please, please, please." The hatter begged.

As his chains got tagged.

He was held and captured,

as he had been weight and measured.

The perversion of a mothers womb,

became his womb.

He should never be free ons more,

never able to see a different shore.

It's his fault, it's his fault...

And he screamed from the vault.

15th January 2005, Kaleigh Foremar.