Well, I'm back with another sad little story. Always writing sad ones, I am. This is actually somewhat inspired by Doctor Who. I have a bit of a soft spot for Rose and Ten, and I love the idea that Alice and Hatter have the possibility of having that same sort of relationship beginning to end. So this is just my little stab at something different, and I hope you like it. Also, if you have no idea what I'm taking about with Rose and Ten, I suggest you go do a little research. :) This might turn into a full-length story, but I'm not sure. There's quite a bit of potential with this, I think. Maybe I'm just terribly mistaken. Feedback would be appreciated.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. This is all for fun. :)
Alice didn't quite belong in this world, dreary and solemn London. It was evident with each step she took passing the solemn faces on the cold, cobble stone streets. Though she looked like them and spoke like them, she would never be one of them. It was complicated, of course, but then anything to do with this life seemed to be complicated.
That truth had not always been so. There was a time when life was easy, and time passed with a lazy euphoria. She would sit on the cool grass in the afternoons watching as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, the smell of hot tea engulfing her senses causing small tingles to travel over her tiny body. He would hum absentmindedly, moving here or there about the great tea table sometimes muttering to himself as he worked.
Alice liked to watch him from time to time. Tearing her eyes away from the stars, she would inspect his every movement, giggling as he lovingly stroked the pretty teacups and occasionally trying to hide the tiny smirk that would dance across her lips when she caught him talking to the polished silverware. He was so blissfully unaware, and Alice, with a small shake of her pretty blonde head, would turn her eyes back to the stars without a worry or a care. Only happy.
Then there were times when he would walk over to her, slow and gentle, the mad gleam missing from his eyes, and before she could quite register what was happening, gloved hands would pull her up to plant soft kisses in her blonde, curled hair. He would point out the shapes in the sky, and Alice never remembered a single one because she was too busy watching the way his eyes danced across the heavens.
Funny how she had thought those moments would last forever. Now, as her gray shoes clicked lifelessly down the street, it was almost impossible to believe she had once sat under those stars, stars that looked just like the ones in this world, but only different because he had stood by her side. Always different because he was there.
Alice let a tiny sigh escape from between her lips and continued on pretending that she belonged here, on these cold stones beneath her feet, never letting on that another world lay just below them all, sealed off from this world now.
Sometimes she would dream of him, after a long day when nothing seemed to work in her favor. She would see his bright, green eyes staring after her the way they used to when she would make a joke or tell her own silly story. He always loved when she did that, and she would laugh, a wild abandoned sound, overcome by the brilliance she saw in those orbs, the love that seemed to wash over her.
It was almost enough, and Alice would sleep peacefully with the quiet memories, forgetting in her dreams that he was somewhere else now, far away from her.
And then there were the times when Alice tried to rest in the cool grass behind her house, gazing quietly up at the stars. They didn't twinkle and dance in this world, and Alice, always feeling a little stir of anger at this, would pick at the grass, heaving the little blades out into the night, allowing herself to think of those lost moments before quickly standing and walking back inside.
Only then, as she rested her head against the old, wooden door, would she let the tears spill down her cheeks, hot and angry as they fell. He had promised her once, in a state of uncharacteristic tenderness, that he would always be there to comfort her, and she couldn't help but grin, as the tears continued to fall, at how empty that promise felt now.
Some afternoons she would wander through the countryside, pretending he was beside her as she walked reminding him of their adventures together. She always imagined in those moments that he would laugh happily at all those bits of silliness, and then, white hair blowing in the gentle breeze and mad grin spreading across his handsome face, take her hand and tell her to run. She would never question it, only follow him as her skirts swished madly about her ankles, and they would run as if their lives depended on it as he called over his shoulder that they were having another adventure.
But the mirage could only last for so long. Panting, cheeks flushed red from the excitement, Alice would arrive back at the empty house and the illusion would be broken as she gazed up at the dark, lonely windows. With a sad smile, she would stare at the spot where he had stood only moments before in her imagination, almost believing for a tiny instant that she could see the indentions in the grass were his abnormally large feet had been, before resignedly walking up the steps to the back door.
Then, there were the moments she always dreaded remembering, the times when she would let the walls in her mind slip, and that blinding white light would engulf her memory again. It was in those moments that she remembered exactly why she was in this world, and she would cry out to no one at the injustice and cruelty of it all. She would curse that light and try to forget, try to pull herself back together, but she could never quite shake the feeling for the rest of the day.
Instead, the image would follow her as if to say, "Remember me? The little crack that ruined it all." And she would relive that day all over again until she fell onto her bed, exhaustion lulling her to sleep and away from that dreaded light.
It's a funny thing, time and space, held together by a mixture of glue and shoelaces and paper clips. At least that was the way he had explained it to her, one warm summer night when the little crack with white light had first appeared. The smallest, tiniest thing could upset the entire balance, and Alice had just smiled in amazement at the idea of it all, at the notion of simple things such as glue and paper clips holding the whole universe together. It hadn't occurred to her then what he had so desperately tried to tell her, as the little crack continuously widened throughout the coming days. It didn't occur to her until the stars began to go out one by one and the vibrant colors began to fade, that one of the paper clips had broken, broken because something had ripped through into this world that didn't belong.
She had stood in the doorway that evening, framed by the gentle glow of the lamps, gloved hands resting on her shoulders. They both stared at the crack in silence, until she turned to face him, both knowing and dreading what was to come. She was the piece that didn't belong, always the piece that just didn't fit, and he had pulled her in close one last time before she broke away and walked directly into that dreadful, once amazing crack, letting the blinding light engulf her. She had appeared on the steps of this old house and then the crack had sealed itself leaving her all alone to pick up the pieces.
Some mornings, when sleep had eluded her and she could no longer lie under her warm blankets and pretend to rest, she would sit on the front porch steps, staring into the dreary sky, imaging the smell of hot tea and wondering if he had even been human before disappearing back inside, wondering if he remembered her now, or if stepping through that crack had erased every bit of his memory of her and their time together. Just a lovely idea never turned into reality, and sometimes, she would almost feel normal again.
Alice, now reluctantly remembering the present, continued down the cobbled streets, pulling her cloak tighter around her tiny frame, blending into a world in which she didn't belong and deciding that maybe just this once that wasn't such a terrible thing.
The End.