Based off 'American McGee's Alice'
I wander through this land, and it is strange to me. Looking up, I see no sunlight, only a cloud of
darkness, shrouding what lurks around me, hungry for my body as well as my soul. But I fear
nothing here. The darkness in my mind overwhelms the darkness around me, and I let the blade
of my toy light up those dismal shadows, revealing their secrets to me.
I wonder if somehow, someway, this is my fault. My mind flashes images of a land of lush green, and running blue waterfalls. Friends that love me. But now, I remember nothing. I only see what is here, and much like the dismal walls of the asylum, the air is filled with the stench of sorrow and death. As I turn my sight to the grimy walls, they seem to move. My pupils dilate, as I see bits of a fat tentacle, writhing behind the wall, making it pulsate like a fresh wound.
My upper lip curls in momentary disgust, before my eyes dart to another object of interest.
"What is that?" My voice sounds ordinary. I will never admit it, but the calm frightens me.
Everything seems so casual.
"A knife to wield, a useful toy!" The deep voice startles me from concentration, as I glance down
beside me. The Cheshire Cat, mangy and thin, stands beside me. I meet his eyes, a questioning
gaze. His grin widens, and I turn back to the object, wrapping my fingers around the handle to
the knife. It feels almost too easy, as if the handle had been designed for my fingers alone, and
anyone else foolish enough to grasp it would not know how to use it.
My reflection catches in the blade, and my eyes stare back at me. A sharp intake of breath
follows as I see the asylum, reflected behind my double within the blade. My double looks sickly
and pale, with wide, staring eyes.
Insane eyes.
I position the blade to my wrist, running it along the edges momentarily. I wonder if it would
hurt as much. I wonder if it would hurt as equally as being burned alive.
No.
I prefer the blade before me, and I feel a sudden rush of power as I wield it in the air. It creates a
brief sound, cutting the air. Like a sharp whistle.
I wander through the tunnels, and soon come upon another form.
The first bit of energy collects itself as I rush at the card figure, who freezes with an expression
that can only be described as pure terror. I think I may understand why.
From my brief encounter with my reflection.
For in the last few seconds of his life, it is not a young girl that the card sees making its way
towards him, but a virus. An insane, emotionless virus, wielding a knife that connects
effortlessly.
Moments later, I pull the knife back, now covered in oozing warm blood. It runs down my hand,
and I wipe it on the front of my dress, covering it with blood stains.
Almost an accusation.
Almost.
Smiling, I continue on.
THE END