New Perspective

The clock struck midnight as Emma punched her number into the touch-screen computer in front of her, hitting 'Hostess: Clock Out' before grabbing her purse and jacket and heading out the restaurant's employee exit. As she stepped outside she winced against the blast of icy wind that beat relentlessly against the building's walls. She hurriedly stepped back into the restaurant and out of the now-freezing hallway into the kitchen it was attached to. "Bloody hell," she said, exasperated, "it's freezing out there. Isn't winter supposed to be over?"

Emma pulled on the bright red pea coat she'd slung over her shoulder, tying it up with frozen fingers. There were only two others in the kitchen now: the manager, Kay, wearing the black shirt, tights, and plaid skirt that Emma also wore; and the dishwasher, David, who had on a baggy gray sweater and sweatpants. The latter said, in a tired voice, "Yeah. But you never know in Ohio, that's the thing." He picked up a rag and finished scrubbing his work station, continuing slowly, "It's supposed to start raining soon. Was it raining when you walked out?"

"No," Emma shook her head, "Not yet. I better get going before it does, though."

The manager, who'd been leaning against the kitchen wall nearly half-asleep, glanced over at her, "Are you sure you're okay with walking to your car by yourself? If you just wait a bit longer for me to lock up and make sure everything's finished David and I could go with you."

Emma knew that when Kay said 'a bit longer' she'd end up staying at least forty-five minutes later and politely declined. "I'll be alright, Kay. Thanks though."

"Alright," she said absently, "Have a good night, Emma."

"You too," Emma replied, "See you David!"

With that she headed back out to the exit, pulling a small portable umbrella from her purse. She stepped outside, again wincing at the wind, and walked out to the sidewalk.

It was a Saturday night, the busiest of the week, and all employees were instructed to park at a green about a five minute's walk away to ensure that customers had the space of the company parking lot. Though it was a rather bothersome rule and a pain to acknowledge during the winter, Emma didn't mind it too much. The walk was usually a good way to unwind from the stress of a busy night, and though at the moment it was near freezing out Emma walked slowly and thoughtfully to her destination. There wasn't much on her mind, for a change.

As she walked she kept to the sidewalk, making sure to stay away from the darker areas of the streets. She passed an old church that she used to attend as a child, and soon neared the old historic covered bridge that led to the path that let pedestrians out into the green. As she stepped onto the bridge's wooden planks she heard all noise of the blustery wind cease, and could only make out the sound of rushing water beneath her feet. It was a surreal feeling; she'd always wistfully associated it with the feeling of stepping foot into another time and place, a different world. She quickened her pace as soon as she entered the structure, as it was very dark without a streetlamp, and stopped right before she exited.

There was nothing that could really give her cause for alarm, but as she stood there she felt a cold trickle of fear go through her. Suddenly she wished she'd waited for her two coworkers, who were at least twice her young age of seventeen, and she teetered on the edge between the bridge and the rock path, not willing to go backward or forward. For a few moments she stood there, motionless, listening to the strong wind and the river below her. There were no other sounds, and she could see nothing in her path with the dim light from a streetlamp across the street. She stood there a good few minutes, until finally she scolded herself for being so childish and afraid. She was seventeen, for goodness' sake, she wasn't afraid of the dark! Her feet moved forward with great reluctance, and Emma cringed when she felt a raindrop hit her forehead. She opened the red umbrella she'd been holding and held it up against the wind and small splattering of rain, admonishing herself for not getting to her car sooner. With a huff she spurred onward, and onto the path between the bridge and the green.

The pathway really wasn't a path; it was more like a large patch of wilting grass and rotting trees that let out onto the parking lot where Emma was parked. As it was the end of winter the trees were eerily bare and sinister-looking; Emma's active and childlike imagination only served to make them ten times as creepy, so she directed her eyes to the muddy grass she trod on. A few moments later, when she was halfway between the bridge and the green, she stopped and tensed, listening intently to her surroundings. She had thought, absurdly, that she'd heard a sort of humming drifting across the air, though now that she'd stopped to listen she heard nothing but the wind and light rain. With a racing heart she checked to her left and right, noting no one there. She dismissed her fear, after a moment, and carefully moved forward, hyper-sensitive to any sound or movement.

Emma had only taken two steps forward when she heard it again, a melodic humming that seemed to fluctuate from one side of the path to the other. She then, much to her dismay and fright, heard a squelching in the mud behind her to the right and she whipped around, eyes wide in panic.

There, in the mud not ten feet away from the frightened girl, was what appeared to be a man in a dark coat and trousers, with striped socks, and a rather large hat upon his head. He was crawling on the ground, looking as if he was searching for something and humming all the while.

Though Emma knew she should be terrified and should take off to her car right away, she was so puzzled by what she saw that she stood there observing the scene for a few moments. The man, whose face Emma could not quite see due to the lack of light on the path, appeared not to have noticed her and kept on searching. A minute passed and Emma snapped to her senses, backing up slowly and quietly so as not to alert the strange man. At long last she finally reached the parking lot, and deemed it safe to turn her back to the odd sight behind her. As soon as she did, however, she heard a rather timid voice speak up,

"Pardon me, miss, but have you happened upon a rather large hole recently?"

Emma jumped nearly a foot in fright and spun around to face the speaker. The man, who had now gotten off the ground and was dusting mud and dirt off his pants, was very slowly approaching Emma, who could now tell that he was about one head taller than she. She could still not make out any of his features; she was the one standing under a streetlight, not he. There was a very loud part of her brain telling her to flee, but a curiouser part of her being said cautiously, "A hole?"

"Yes, yes," the man had a very slight lisp and an English accent, which confused Emma very much seeing as she'd never met anyone with an English accent in Ohio before, "A rabbit hole, to be precise." He turned to his left and looked at the ground by the surrounding trees, then did the same to his right.

Emma wondered at how strange a question it was, and answered, "No, not that I can recall. Have you-lost… something?"

The man laughed at her question; a mad-sounding laugh that would make Emma want to laugh along if the situation weren't so odd. He turned to face her again and walked forward, tapping his head lightly, "You could say that."

Emma watched, only mildly concerned, as he stepped into the circle of light emitted by the buzzing streetlight. It took only a second for Emma to process the crooked grin, chalky white skin, bright orange hair, and vivid green eyes before she leapt back in terror, face paling to nearly the same deathly color as his. She didn't shriek as she'd originally thought she would, but tensed up defensively, brandishing her umbrella out in front of her like a makeshift sword. The man (or 'clown-thing' as Emma's frightened mind would've put it), surprised at her reaction whipped of his abnormally large top hat and ducked, hands over his head as if some bird might be flying at him to take him away. After a few seconds he lifted his head to look around and, seeing no trouble except the umbrella pointed at his face, asked, "What is it?"

He stood up as he waited for Emma's reply, and she stuttered, "W-what are you?"

The stranger furrowed his orange eyebrows in confusion, "Now what kind of a question is that?" He picked his hat up off the ground and dusted it off, gingerly placing it atop his head, "I'm a hatter, of course. To the White Queen herself." He hadn't seemed offended by her question at all, but rather that she couldn't guess the answer herself. "And you…" he continued, his green eyes brightening considerably and an excited smile lighting upon his face, "Why, you're just like Alice!"

Emma frowned and lowered the umbrella, startled by how childlike he seemed to be in that instant. It was with great caution that she proceeded, "But I don't know an Alice."

The Hatter nodded, a look of great wonder and concentration upon his face as he plucked a golden watch out of his pocket. "You don't speak like her either…" he said, referring to her American accent. Glancing at the watch he inquired thoughtfully, "What year is it?"

'What year is it? What an odd thing to ask,' Emma thought, but decided to humor the confused man, "2010."

"2010?!" The man seemed to be incredibly surprised and tapped the watch, muttering something about jam and tea. Then, at no moment's notice his vivid green eyes turned a sad shade of blue, and his shoulders hunched forward. Even his hat seemed to droop slightly to the side. A bit of a different accent seemed to creep into his voice as she said quietly, "I see. Then you really don't know Alice."

Even though Emma could tell by now that this man was a bit off his rocker and probably couldn't help what he was saying, she felt a bit irritated at the frequent reference to this girl, "Who's Alice?"

"A friend," he replied after a short hesitation. Emma could now identify the accent he'd adopted so suddenly: Scottish, perhaps? He said again, "A very old friend."

Emma, very confused by the combination of varying eye colors, accents, and such odd ways of speaking, asked, "Where are you from?"

The Hatter seemed not to notice her question, and instead muttered something about a champion and what sounded like 'bloody big head'. The rain, which had continued to drizzle throughout the entire conversation, picked up considerably just then and Emma reopened her umbrella. It made a whooshing sound as it unfolded itself, and the click as it snapped into place brought the forlorn man back to Emma's question. In a slightly poetic manner he seemed to recite, "She used to call it Wonderland… but would never call it home. She never did make it back for tea." His sad blue eyes roamed the surrounding trees, "And she never did answer my question..."

His voice drifted off and his eyes stayed fixed on the ground beneath him. Emma began to wonder if she should call for help for this apparently troubled man when he looked up at her hopefully, eyes once again green and his Scottish accent replaced by his former English one, "Tell me: why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Emma frowned and shifted uncomfortably.

"You really are like Alice, you know," the Hatter said lightly, and grinned sadly.

Not knowing whether to be flattered or not by this statement she nodded slowly and sighed. She could tell that there was not much more to be said, and the rain was picking up more each passing moment. She was certain that her parents must be getting a bit worried: at least twenty minutes had passed, and by now she most certainly would've called them to say she was heading home.

Feeling very awkward and not knowing how best to leave a situation like this she said meekly, "Well… I believe I'd best get going. I've had a long night. I hope you find… home."

The Hatter laughed that infectious laugh of his, and said, "Yes. As do I. Do you have a name?"

She nodded, "Emma. And… yours?"

"Tarrant." He grinned again, and Emma noted the slight gap between his front teeth, "Tarrant Hightopp. But mostly I'm called Hatter. Or, the Mad Hatter." As he laughed once more Emma couldn't help but laugh along with him, and see how well the nickname fit.

Emma, not really knowing why except feeling that it'd fit his personality, curtseyed and said formally, "It was nice meeting you… Tarrant. Take care."

Another laugh bubbled past his lips and he bowed regally, "Likewise."

It was then that they both noticed the rain had stopped, and Emma collapsed her umbrella for what was hopefully the last time that night. A sudden mad thought crossed her mind: What if, once he found this rabbit hole, he fell in? It was such an absurd, impossible thought that Emma nearly laughed for even thinking it. But, as a precaution that certainly wouldn't be necessary since this Mad Hatter wouldn't be falling down a rabbit hole at all, Emma held the umbrella out to the strange man,

"Here, have this. For when you find Wonderland again."

Hatter's face lit up as he grinned once more, and he grabbed the umbrella from her thankfully. He stepped back then, out of the light of the lamp, and said quietly, "Fair farren, Emma."

With a smile and one last glance she turned her back to the Hatter, and strode off to her car. As soon as she got in she buckled up and turned on the headlights, which lit up where she'd just been conversing with the mad stranger. To her great surprise she saw there was not a soul in sight, and she mumbled, "Curiouser and curiouser…" as she stared at the car's clock:

It was only 12:07.

Author's Note -

This is my first (and probably only) Alice in Wonderland fic. This little plot bunny just wouldn't leave me alone, and hopefully now that it's written, I can focus on my other stories again.
I hope you all liked it! Please leave reviews, constructive criticism, etc.
Flames will be ignored and framed. :)

And, on another note, does anyone else find it incredibly hard to keep Hatter in character? Or is it just me?

Fair farren, all!

Thanks - Sydney