A/N: One of my best friends persuaded me to finally put this fanfiction up here…So, here it is! Thank you!
A/N: This is mostly movie-verse; however, I have drawn much inspiration from the original book by Lewis Carroll. Therefore, I have placed this in the movie category.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alice in Wonderland in any of its forms, nor am I Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton, Walt Disney, or some other party involved with Alice in Wonderland. I make no money or profit from this in any way.
The day was cold. The sun was dull, releasing no warmth and only a little light. The sky was murky gray, leaving nothing to wonderful imagination. The wind did not blow; the stars did not rise.
The world was dying, slowly, and without any chance of recovery.
There was a garden, in a corner of this tearing world. It used to produce great crops and flowering plants. Freens and squars, vilips and roseifsdils used to flourish there.
Now, only grief and misery could grow.
In the center of this wasteland, a rickety table stood. It was of aged wood, with uneven legs. A ratty old tablecloth lay upon it, the once majestic violet faded to pale lavender. A broken teapot sat near the head of the table, and a few chipped teacups occupied spots as well. Tea stains speckled the ragged cloth.
There were three solemn occupants at the table, and all were mad. None were human, even, for humans were rather rare in this fractured fairytale world.
The first was a mouse, with tufts of gray fur peeking out between the once-brown fur. He slept often, but even in sleep one cannot escape misfortune. He wore a too-small rose jacket and a little hat out of a dented thimble.
The second was a hare, his eyes milky with age. His ears drooped, and his fur was uneven. He seldom spoke, except to request some butter for his tea or some milk for his bread. He wore a suit in once-prized black corduroy, but this too had grown old and torn.
The last was once sane. Others may disagree, but he only went insane at the same rate as the world he inhabited. Some may look at him and doubt he had ever had his marbles, but he, only he, knew the truth. But he chose rather often not to remember it.
His hair was an astonishing orange, his eyes a surprising emerald. His face was ashen white, and his fingers were discolored by mercury. He wore a pink shirt, followed by an amber waistcoat and maroon trousers. He wore a brown overcoat and a black cravat tied in a most peculiar fashion. Upon his head sat a top hat with a wide ribbon around the base. This is now, this is madness personified. He was not human, though he appeared ever so much to be so.
Beyond, a darkness stalked through the trees, unnoticed by the guests at the macabre tea party.
The mouse, the hare, the man…all were silent. The mouse slept, the hare stared, the man sat.
The man sat, yes. He sat in his chair at the head of the table, reaching forward every few moments to take a sip of tea. He sat up ramrod-straight, shoulders squared. His eyes were half-closed, but he was not fatigued. He was sane in an insane world.
The shadow stalked nearer, nearer, nearer…
Suddenly, the man jerked up, as if awakened from a dream. He scanned his gaze across the table, glancing at his companions. Slowly, he reached forward and poured himself a cup of tea; most of the tea spilled out of the broken teacup.
The darkness stalked ever closer.
The man grunted, voice broken from long disuse. "What is the day?" he murmured. He brought a hand up to brush down his coat, as if just meeting himself for the first time.
The mouse awoke in alarm. "Day?" he asked haltingly. The hare made no movements.
"Yes, day!" the man insisted. "What. Is. The. Day?"
The darkness made itself known.
"It is March the Fifth, Hatter, and you would be wise to remember it. Today is your birthday."
"I care not for birthdays, only unbirthdays. Where is she…?" the now-identified Hatter asked. Then, he squinted at the shape in front of him. "I don't recall inviting Lady Death to tea."
"You have not invited me, but when have I been one to wait patiently for a courteous invitation?" The darkness shifted into the shape of a woman, all black silk and fine fabric. She was pale and wore a flowing dark dress, making her seem positively ghost-like.
"Yes, of course. But now…now…" The Hatter trailed off, not in thought, but in the thought of being sane in a positively mad universe.
"Now, you shall be quiet, Tarrant." The Hatter rose from the table, knocking his teacup over. He did not bother to right it.
"Be quiet, ah, yes, be quiet! Always being quiet, yes, yes, yes! Oh, but you may talk, you may chatter…Y'may live! But I, no, not I. I mus' r'main, pushed-down, compli'nt to a rulin' I see unjust! Yes, ye and your unseen rules, plungin' m'forth into despair and 'orror… For ye would not let m'forget, not let m'forgive, oh, no…No, not that, not that small m'rcy for a simple 'atter! 'Stead Time, that cruel soul, keeps m' – "
"Hatter!" the mouse shrieked. The Hatter paused, mouth agape and eyes ablaze with amber flames. Then, something seemed to crack inside of him and his expression grew remorseful.
"I'm fine…" he whispered, returning to his seat. And still, in a smaller voice: "Downal wtyh Bluddy Behg Hid."
"Yes, Tarrant…I never much cared to engage in the politics of this positively raging world."
The hare stared from one to another, then glanced down at the table. He picked up a knife, hunting for the butter. "But it was the very best butter…" he murmured.
"And not a crumb in it!" the mouse exclaimed, then promptly fell back asleep.
The Hatter did not notice this exchange and so continued contemplating writing desks and ravens. The newcomer watched him.
"Tarrant?" she questioned. He glanced up at her. "Tarrant, I believe you are sane in a positively mad world…"
"Perhaps, if you look at it that way! But, you could also see it in contrariwise, where I am completely insane in a wond'rf'lly sane world! Why, jus' look at me! I'm c'mpletely d'ff'rnt from all other denizens of Und'rl'nd. None are 'xactly copies of me, so does that make m'insane…or does it make m'sane? There are no oth'r 'atters now! All the 'ightopp Clan…"
"Hatter!" the mouse yelled.
Hatter dropped his hands to his chest. "Fez," he murmured. "I'm fine!"
"No, you are not. I think you know that by now," the newcomer said. "You are broken, Tarrant, broken and bent."
"I am?" the Hatter questioned, playing with one of his greatcoat buttons.
"Think of what they did to you, Tarrant."
"I know what she did to my family. Those children never got to see the sunrise of Witzend. Never made a fedora. Or a cap. Or a beret. The children, oh, that you took from me, from Underland!"
"Have you pondered joining them?"
"Increasingly then and decreasingly now. Yes, yes, of course I have. Guilt goes well with grief, though I much prefer M-words to G-words. And muchness seems severely lacking in these parts."
"Who, or what, is lacking in muchness?"
"I am," the Hatter brought his chin down against his chest, closing his bright emerald eyes. The newcomer watched him.
"I have solace. For you, Tarrant, I may grant solace."
"I don't intend upon meeting my death at this precise moment."
"Not solace in death, Tarrant, but solace in life. A new life."
"A new life? What could one such as you mean by that?"
"Life far from here. You would still be Tarrant, Hatter of Wonderland. However, you would be living in Overland."
"Overland? You mean where she came from?"
"Alice, the child? Yes, Tarrant, that is Overland."
The Hatter jerked his head up, eyes ablaze with something akin the wonder. "How? When?" he asked, rising from his chair. "Now?"
"If you like."
"I do. Take me there."
The not-so-newcomer grinned, a rather frightening sight. But to the Hatter, who had a rather bone-chilling grin of his won, this made no affect. "If you are sure of it. Oh, and one last thing. You will remember everything. However, you will be a bit changed so as to fit in with Overland society."
"That's phantasmagorical!" Hatter exclaimed. He walked nearer to her. "Now."
"Underland will miss you."
"Yes, I'm sure. But for too long, I've suffered in silence. I've kept on ploughing on, just so Underland could have its Hatter. I've sacrificed myself for the Resistance. Yes, Downal Wyth Bluddy Behg Hid. But now, to go up and live, myself, not the life Underland thinks I ought to live." He paused and adjusted his hat. "Take me there."
The woman nodded and reached forward with a vial of dark liquid. "Drink," she ordered. He did as she bid.
Then, the world around him seemed to shift, and he felt a most curious sensation of falling up. At that point, the world dissolved into darkness.