Abby Varney Creative Writing 2/2/11
Shaking uncontrollably, the grimy, used, porcelain cup rattled on its saucer. Wonderland is different, something strange has happened. "CHANGE PLACES!" I heard the March Hare call. Darting across to the next seat I heard footsteps approaching our table. Not many people ventured this way anymore, apparently the March Hare and I are not as welcoming as we once were. The footsteps continued, steadily approaching, closer and closer towards to table. The March Hare seemed oblivious to anything apart from attempting to repair my pocket watch with a large knife covered in butter. I had already tried the marmalade.
Suddenly a young blonde haired child so dainty, so vulnerable, burst from the bushes. Different... So very different. A girl, how had she managed to reach Wonderland. My mind overflowing with the hum of ideas did not seem to register our conversation. "Why is a Raven like a writing desk?" I blurted out, trying to gather some sort of impression of this young child. The whole world tilted, my words turned to glistening pink bubbles, I watched them float to the sky. Excited by the riddle, I was left alone to ponder. Who is this child? I thought to myself. The wind in the trees began to chant quietly Alice, Alice, Alice... Alice? What an ordinary name. Not the kind of person who could make a difference, not really. The name sounded familiar, like I had heard it before, I watched the Alice, beautiful. Beautiful, luscious red roses merged into a charcoal grey muddle. I had somehow managed to remove myself from the discussion yet again, I hardly remembered what I had said. I looked up to ask her about the beautiful flowers but she had left.
"March Hare!" I cried jumping to attention trying not to let my eyes follow the trail of muddled grey roses that were now aligning themselves to her. "We must find this Alice!"
"Follow Alice you say? Whatever for?" He replied not paying attention, only applying more butter to the inside of a notepad he had conjured from his jacket pocket.
"March Hare!" I bellowed watching my vibrant red word bubbles again as they floated upwards into the accumulating abyss above us. We quickly followed the trail of wilting grey flowers. The trees swayed in time with our running as we galloped towards the silhouette of Alice.
"Alice!" The March Hare shouted. As soon as he had opened his mouth the woods began to darken leaving us following a shadowy path of obliterated roses. Thunder roared, lightening crashed, the world was fading to grey without my Alice. "Alice, Alice, Alice, Where is my Alice?" I whispered to myself "Alice?"
"You do not deserve the Alice" I knew that voice, I spun 360 degrees, clutching my chest. The bubbles that rose were a deep, dark, dangerous black. "Alice will never be yours." Alice appeared, Alice... but not Alice. A mirage of my Alice. A smoke image, the colour of the sky before a storm. Different. Darkness. Pain.
Morning. Alice? My mind automatically inquired. All I could see was a kaleidoscope of faces. Yellows, purples, oranges, bursts of colours mirroring her image, yet tainted, not quite whole.
"MARCH HARE, WE MUST FIND HER!" I screamed, I looked back the way we had come, the path of charcoal roses, went on for as far as the eye could see. The March Hare and I began to scamper along the trail. I paused here and there gathering blood red roses that had managed to escape the explosion of dismal grey. I planned to present them to my Alice. Trees vacated our path as we flew by. Rushing, racing, running towards my Alice. I could see her outlined against the horizon. I must have my Alice.
We reached the Queens castle. It was a palace fit for her. My Queen, my precious. Shouts of terror and piercing screams resounded from inside. The colossal monster of the black steel gate lay smashed with broken bodies of guards scattered into never-ending piles that reeked of death. I slipped inside with the March Hare following soundlessly behind me. We finally reached an area full of confusion. Elegant ladies and gentlemen scrambled to and fro, echoing the shouts and screams we had heard at the gates. Alice was the size of a tree, shouting down at the crowd. She slowly began to shrink. I leapt forwards with all my strength. Just to touch her, the silky stroke of her hand. The warm contentment of her skin. My Alice began to fade. Sobbing, I threw myself, reaching towards the hem of her dress, groping blindly, only managing to tear a handful of its pure perfection.
