A.N. I wrote this in anticipation for the sequel to American McGee's Alice, entitled Alice: Madness Returns. (it is unknown whether or not they will include McGee's name in the final product)
"What's wrong, Alice?"
"I dream at night, doctor."
"What do you dream of, Alice?"
The brown-haired girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat on the velvet loveseat. The man in the white coat sitting in front of her on the wooden stool did not acknowledge her movement, only repeating the question.
"What do you dream of, Alice?"
"The fire. The one that killed them."
"What else do you dream of?"
"..."
The man in the white coat asked again.
"What else do you dream of, Alice?"
"The Jabberwock tells me things, doctor."
"What kind of things, Alice?"
The teenager twitched. She did not like these questions. She frowned, the man in white paid no attention to her.
"Jabberwock says I killed them. Jabberwock does not lie."
"Did you kill them, Alice?"
"No, doctor."
"But you said, Jabberwock, does not lie, Alice."
"I did not kill them. But I did not save them."
The man in the white coat looked at her questioningly, asking her what she meant. Her porcelain face expressionless as his own, he regretted. He could not help her if she kept it all to herself. Wonderland, the queen, the cat and hatter...Insane.
"What do you mean, Alice?"
"I smelled the smoke. I smelled the smoke. I smelled the smoke."
"What else does, Jabberwock, say to you, Alice?"
"Jabberwock says things in deep rhyme. I remember it."
"Go on, Alice."
"Jabberwock says:
Secure and spared,
Without a care,
You let them burn,
Without concern,
You horrid child."
The man in white wrote these words down as the brunette said them. He asked his final question of the day.
"What is a Jabberwock, Alice?"
"I am. I am Jabberwock and Jabberwock is I."
"Thank you, Alice."
"Thank you, doctor."
The man in the white coat walked away, looking down sadly. He had not progressed much as of late, and worried that he might never cure the girl of her hallucinations and nightmares of Wonderland. And with that, he put on an old, worn hat and walked off into the streets once more. A small paper fell from the faded salmon-colored ribbon of his top hat.
It read 10/6.
A.N. It's short, but it was fun. I don't normally write mostly-dialog stories, but I felt the need to portray it differently. It's not perfect, but overall I'm proud of this.