'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Watering those planets, with haste only a mad gardener could produce. All for her…all for her…
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!
Those three hoodlums would not trouble her anymore. No. Not with stab wounds. Not with singed eyelids and broken necks. He had painted them red. Red…
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
The madman held aloft his shovel, and took some steps from the freshly planted flowers. When he leaned against the nearby banana tree, his world should shift once more.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
But there was knocking on the door, and screaming down below. The madman looked over the side of the roof, and yep, there they were. Five of them, all gathered around each other, concealed underneath five black umbrellas as the evening threw down rain at them. Knocking at his door. No, not knocking. Banging! BANGING! How rude of them to come to this tea party without being invited. He looked at his garden shovel in hand, his vorpal sword, and loved the mad inspiration that came with it.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
The bag of fertilizer, sitting so precariously against the edge of the rooftop, gleamed at him with a golden aura as if there were life in it, calling to him. Asking him, "Hey Hatter! Come and take me with a spoonful of sugar for each naughty child!" And the madman did take his Vorpal, and with it, spooned the fertilizer from the bag! That fertilizer which burned an intense green, far greener than fertilizer should be…far hotter, too, could anyone but the madman see the haze about it, they may run. But they did not, and he did, and the madman stretched out his hand over the edge of the rooftop and tipped the shovel over. Oh how it burned! Oh how it seared! Oh how it melted! Acidic! Yes, ACIDIC! Delicious acid, do you work, make them ash and bone and burke! Their screams were fierce, as they did stumble, and tilting the whole bag over the edge, his hands did not fumble! And poured passionately the acidic fertilizer, that burned them with the rain…
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
She was waving at him from the table, a smile upon her glazed face, her expression like a doll's perfection, and she was asking him if he was coming back to the party soon. He smiled so warmly at her. So lovingly. "Yes, my dear. Coming soon! The deed is just beginning, after all!"
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
The madman took his lovely doll and carried her away, throwing her first into the flowerbeds, and proceeding to have his way. He plucked her petals yet smelled the sweets of natural scented glands, and she did not scream, even as he dug a shovel in both her hands. The blood that squirted from her palms was heaven and he smelled it as raspberry jam.
"Come on, dear, don't be stingy, save some for the madman." Stitched. Stitches were needed.
Of course, Ramira awoke in a daze, her vision hindered by a cloth of sorts. Blackness everywhere. Her head was rattling, and she was blindfolded. Of course she was.
But her mouth remain unbound. "HEY!" She screamed as loudly as she could. She knew not where she was, nor why she was here. And that did not matter right now. The man…the short man had attacked her in that alleyway. Never take alleyways, no matter how tempting they may appear, Ramira, her mother had told her years before. But she had passed on such fears as superstition. Movie logic. Nothing truly appealing to reality. And it had cost her everything. Her hands were throbbing, but she could not move her arms. She seemed to be bound to something very soft. By feel, she would swear by the knowledge that it was an armchair of sorts. Comfy kidnapping?
"HEY!" she screamed again, foolishly struggling against her bindings. "LISTEN TO ME! I SWEAR IF I GET OUT OF-" But then she stopped. She was being stupid. So stupid. Why on earth would she shout threats? Why would she have such hate for her captor? He had saved her! Yes, saved her. He was the one she needed to be with. Her heart softened as joy overcame her. "I want to see your face, my guardian angel."
"Just a moment, sweet Alice," her captor whispered into her ear. Her mouth opened slightly as it trembled. That voice. It was more than orgasm, more than perfection. It was essence in full, obsession to the ear. Music, my love, music. Play your melody again. She felt him skin brush against her arm as he untied her hands. The touch was poetry. She felt his breath on her neck as he bent forward to remove her blindfold, and it was like the wind in a silent snowfall.
And then…vision! So much vision to behold. She was sitting strapped to the most comfortable orange armchair. Before her, the most magnificently laid out table, at least ten feet long and a host to several more armchairs. Men and women, dressed in the most elegant of tuxedos and gowns, sat at each, ten in all, and all of them wore beautiful hats atop their heads. Some had feathers large and small, some had colors vibrant and alive, designs of poke dots and zig zags, twirley doos and flom bay patterns. All of this, it seemed, was grandeur, and Ramira-no, Alice- loved it. She clapped her hands enthusiastically as she beheld the wondrous dinner before her, of the pies and cakes and various types of teapots and cookies around her, and as she did, as her joy overcame her, she saw that her wrists were adorned in emeralds and sapphires upon golden bracelets.
And there was her angel, standing beside her, looking at her with such tender love in his eyes. That soft red hair, those eyes so blue, oceans and islands in them. He wore the cutest green tail suit, the most poka dotted bowtie, and a large tophat too wide to be socially acceptable for those who could not see. The hat was dark green, and encrusted in the tower of it was a bright red jewel. He offered her a white gloved hand, and she took it, giving him a look that suggested she was his for all that desired. She did not notice the bandages upon her palms. Alice was relaxed. Yes, Alice. Always Alice. Never Ramira. Just Alice…
"So, my dear, what kind of tea do you prefer?" he asked her softly, as he gently pressed his lips to her hand. "Make your choice, but take your time. We have all the time in the world, Alice. Hey, everyone, Alice is awake!"
"Hurrah!" the seated guests before them cheered, clapping their hands excitedly as everyone beheld the two of them. Alice blushed…or was it Ramira…and looked down at the plate of shortbread and sugar cookies before her. They twinkled in the dim firelight of the assorted candles hanging from the chandelier.
"So, my dear, what kind of tea?" the angel asked her once more, stroking her golden hair with flourish. He tapped the hat that she now realized was sat upon her head. She touched it as well, feeling the white lace on the border of the brim, feeling the soft cloth that made up its entirety and loving what her angel had given her. It almost seemed like music was coming from it. Soft music, so distinct and distant, but a part of her!
I could listen to a babbling brook
And hear a song that I could understand
I keep wishing it could be that way
Because my world would be a Wonderland
"Listen, everyone, she's singing…here her angelic voice!" the angel proclaimed to the other guests. Alice or Ramira, Ramira yet Alice shook her head, as if waking from a dream that had persisted into the land of the awake.
"Was I?" she asked softly.
He stroked her cheek. "Yes, my dear. Now, what tea would you prefer?"
"Oh, yes…sweet?"
The angel chortled. "My dear, you are a mad one! Here, have my special brand, I made it just for you." He produced from his tailor coat a flask, most beautifully silver and rimmed with golden orbs set into the work. It was topped with a clean, true diamond, its point deadly sharp in its look. He removed the diamond from the flask and offered the flask to her.
DON'T DRINK IT!
Something in her head screamed at her, but she could only frown at such demands from her mind. A small scrap of paper attached to the flask read different. DRINK ME it read. That command came from the angel, and the angel's word was law. The angel was to be worshipped. And then there was the smell. That sweet smell of strawberry flavoring. Strawberries were her favorite fruit.
I MEAN IT! DON'T DRINK IT!
"Be quiet," she hissed to herself silently. The angel gave her a funny look, as did the other guests, but she smiled all the same and tipped the flask backwards, towards her mouth. Soon there would be the taste of strawberries in her mouth. The sweet, indeed strawberry flavored tea did indeed bring her taste buds to new heights as the liquid poured down her throat. It was bliss, to say the least. The angel looked pleased, and was positively shaking with delight.
"Perfect," he told her, bending forward and kissing her lightly on the lips. The taste of it was joy, the tenderness of it was fire. Passion, to say the least. It was not sensual, however, nor was it sexually oriented. Because this was not romance. It was existence. A simple fact to be stated and stamped. He pulled back, his eyes glinting as he relished in the moment shared with his Alice. "Now…sleep forever…"
And that was when the poison kicked in. Alice-no, suddenly, in all manner of things, Ramira- gasped as something pulsated hard in her chest. The angel could only stand and watch, his guests as well, as her breathing began to pace, and sweat began to pour, heated from an invisible fire, in masses. Pain shot through her nerves and she felt blood rushing into her head. A heart attack!? She grasped at her chest, her hand suddenly shaking in a very violent way. The angel sighed, stroking her hair softly as he watched her shrink in her chair, her eyes closing slowly as fog began to take her senses.
And there were so many voices inside of her head.
It's okay, just fall. Down the rabbit hole into a Wonderland of your choosing. And don't be afraid of it. Just embrace it. It all ends the moment you refuse to see the Wonder within the land.
But she did not want to go…not yet…the rabbit hole was tempting but scary more so…
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Shall she die? The angel breathed in the smell of death. She would soon fall well beyond the rabbit hole…any second now…
Ramira faded. And somewhere near, a window crashed…