It's a Mad, Mad World

by verbal-acuity77

Clare Diana Edwards could have been sane. But Wonderland had far too big of plans for her.

1. Chapter 1

"Curiouser and curiouser."

― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass

You're running through a field with your older sister, ripping daisies up from their roots. It's a contest between the two of you. Whoever collects the most daisies will present them to your mother at dinner that evening.

Your barefoot feet frolic through the grass. The wind is to your back and you don't have a care in the world, which is completely normal for a child your age.

Then, suddenly, you are gripped with a writhing pain in your head. It feels as though someone has struck you from behind with a large rock, but when you turn around, there is no one behind you. A shrill scream rips from your small throat as the pain intensifies. You drop to your knees and tears form at the corners of your eyelids as you realize that the pain is not on the outside of your head, but on the inside.

Your sister, hearing your petrified scream has made her way quickly back to you. She drops the fistful of daisies in her hand when she catches sight of you, knee deep in the grass, tears now streaming down your face. She runs away with as much speed as her small, seven year old legs can muster towards the small cottage in which your parents are currently sitting. You are left alone in the field. Your body is now shaking in agony. This is the worst pain you have ever felt in your life and all you want is to stop it, but you can't.

Your mother is the first one up the hill. You know it is her because you faintly hear her voice. She wraps her arms around you. Your father is next into the field, Darcy trailing behind him. He pulls out a phone to call the doctor, and you bite your lip, the pain worsening, something you didn't even think was possible. Then, just when you assume all hope is lost, you see him.

He is small, like you, but his dark eyes make him appear older, more mature. You squint at him. Has he been here the entire time? He is dressed in all black like he is going to a funeral, and a small hat sits at the top of him. A dark, shaggy coat of hair covers his eyes as he tilts your head sideways at you, as though that gives him a clearer perspective. You attempt to look around at your parents and Darcy, to see if they will be able to confirm that this boy really is here. They don't appear to notice him, and he doesn't seem to notice them.

His mature eyes, which you have now realized are a jade green color, bore into your tear filled blue ones. He slowly removes his hat, and slowly, carefully, he walks towards you. When his feet move, his entire body appears to shift and tilt, as though his body is an earthquake. He extends his hand to you once he is slightly closer. You move your hand to touch his, but you cannot reach. Then, to your amazement and slight horror, his hand and fingers extend like elastic. They grip your dainty hands and instantly, he grins, revealing two fairly sharp canine teeth.

The next instant, the pain in your head is gone. The boy lets go of your hand and your body falls into your father. Your breathing is heavy and you can hear your family crying to you. "I'm fine." You manage to stammer out. When they don't respond, you speak louder. "I'm fine." You say, sitting up in your father's arms. Their cries of relief echo slightly in your ears.

You blink rapidly, and once your heart rate slows down, you turn your head from left to right, looking for the boy that has undoubtedly saved you from your pain. You ignore your mother's frantic hugs and kisses and Darcy's happy tears for a minute, pushing your glasses up from their resting place on the bridge of your nose up for a clearer view. Where has he gone? He couldn't have left so quickly. You need to find him. You have to thank him. You need to at least get his name.

But he's gone.

No matter how hard you search, he is simply not there. The field is a very spacious open area, and you would have at least caught a glimpse of his figure by now. Defeated, you fall back into your father's arms and allow him to carry you back to your home. Your parents watch you like hawks for the rest of the evening, questioning every last detail of the incident.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. One minute I was fine and then my head started hurtin' real bad."

"Did you feel nauseous?"

"Nope. It was just my head botherin' me."

"Did you hit your head on something?"

"No. The hurt was on the inside of my head."

Your parents can't seem to find a reason for your migraine and instead chose to call it a once in a lifetime occurrence and ask in their nightly prayers that it does not happen again. You decide not to mention the boy to your parents and this strikes you odd because you never keep anything from them. But in all honesty, you think they might call you mad if you speak of a boy that they obviously haven't seen.

Later that night, you and Darcy are all tucked into bed and your mother has turned out the lights. You and Darcy have shared a room ever since you could possibly remember. After your mom has exited, you turn on your side, facing Darcy's bed. "Darce?" You whisper into the darkness. Her reply is immediate. "Yeah?"

"Did you…see a boy in the field? At any time?" You can trust Darcy with your questions. She'll understand.

"No. There was no one in this field but us the whole time. Why? Did you see a boy?" She whispers back quickly. Her voice sounds slightly scared, and you feel slightly guilty that you've worried her with the strangeness of your questions.

"No" You answer. "I just thought I heard someone else's voice. It must have been daddy's. Goodnight Darce."

You turn around and face the wall. "Goodnight Clare-Bear." She says softly. "I love you."

You smile, settling into your bed. "I love you too Darcy." You tell her.

You must have imagined the boy. That's what it was. You must have hallucinated the entire thing because you were in so much pain. That has to be it. That is it. It's got to be.

But for some reason, you can't shake the green eyes and the kind face of the boy who helped you. You squeeze your eyes shut and by the end of the night, have semi-successfully convinced yourself that you were just imagining it, and it will never happen again.

Because only crazy people see things no one else sees.

And you're not crazy.

Right?

. . .

The migraines don't stop.

They begin a month later and they quickly begin to occur more frequently than you had hoped. You grit your teeth and attempt to push the pain in your head away, but it doesn't do any good. You stop screaming after the eighth time, but your family knows when it happens. They see you bite your lip so hard you draw blood. Your long hair falls into your face and you bury your head. You stomp your feet and they don't know how to help. Your mother gives you headache medication from the medicine cabinet, but that only helps a bit. There's only one thing that helps.

The boy.

He comes in after a few minutes of the pain, through the door, the window, sometimes even through the wall, his body phasing and fizzling as if his body isn't made of any sort of matter at all. He enters your line of vision and you want to smile through your pain, because you know it will all end soon. He extends his hand out and you reach out and grip it. Right away your pain is over, but the boy is gone instantly, just like every other time. He never speaks, only does his job and leaves.

After the pain, you usually take a nap. Your mother and father watch over you along with Darcy, sometimes. As they watch your tired little body sleep, worry strikes through their eyes, but you don't see it until it is etched in what appears permanently upon their face.

You first notice it at breakfast when you are ten.

You bound down the steps, jumping the last three. You land on your feet with a loud thud, and your father is immediately at your side, steadying your slightly tipping body. His hand remains on your back, guiding you to the table in the kitchen. He pulls out a chair for you at the head of the table and you sit eagerly. Darcy places a plate before you carrying bacon and eggs, your favorite. She gives you a small smile and unties her apron.

Apron?

You look at her in confusion. Darcy helped cook this meal? Clare used to do that. Her mother would always wake her up, bright and early, and they would cook together. She didn't enjoy it, but it helped their household run smoothly with two people in the kitchen. You can't remember the last time you helped your mother cook.

You swallow the lump in your throat and look down at your favorite meal. It doesn't look as appetizing now, partially due to the guilt, but also because you have been having bacon and eggs quite often in these past breakfasts. You poke an egg and look up.

Mother likes oatmeal and berries.

Darcy likes pancakes.

Daddy likes cereal and wheat toast.

Why haven't you had any of those meals lately?

You put your fork down and take a long look at your family. Your mother is nervously cleaning, something she never did when you were younger. Your father has lines and creases on his forehead, a sign of stress. And Darcy's beautiful brown hair is tied up in a bun and her fingers have burn markings on them from trying to retrieve your breakfast in time for your arrival.

Your family has been working to make you comfortable.

"Is something wrong Clare-bear?" Your mother's voice breaks you out of your study. You look up at her. She appears almost scared, afraid that you don't find something to your liking. You fake a large grin. "No Mommy." You say, and she smiles in relief. You place a forkful of egg in your mouth and chew slowly. Once you swallow it, you look back at your family. "What are we doing today?" You ask.

Your father looks up from his newspaper. "Well, I have a meeting downtown." Your mother's eyes slightly bulge at his words. "But sweetie." She says, placing the pan she was scrubbing furiously down and striding over to her husband. "I have to go to work too. I've got that big presentation."

You see your father's hands tighten around the newspaper and slowly lower. "And Darcy has her piano recital all day." He mutters in a low voice. "That means." His eyes turn to me. "There is no one to watch Clare."

I bite my lip. Were they really that afraid of no one being here to watch me? I was home alone all the time before. Why does now-

Oh.

My family was again attempting to protect me.

"I can miss my recital." Darcy volunteers, munching on a piece of bacon. "No." I say immediately. "I'll be fine." My mother wags a finger at me. "Eat your meal Clare. I'll just call a nanny. Thank you for offering Darcy." She gives me a pointed look and I turn to my sister. "Thank you for offering Darcy." She smiles, big and wide and runs up the stairs to get dressed. I jump off my chair and begin the climb to my stairs just as my mother is calling the nanny.

. . .

"Now Clare-Bear. We're going to leave. The nanny will be here in ten minutes." My mother holds out ten fingers to emphasize her words. "If you need anything, anything, call your father, or me. And if it's an emergency-"

"Call 9-1-1." you finish for her. "I know mommy." She gives you a small smile and kisses your head. "Be careful." She murmurs. Darcy gives you a wave and my father ruffles my hair, and then they are gone, closing the door quietly behind them.

You stroll into the kitchen, picking up an apple and taking a careful bite. Sunlight streams in through the windows and you whistle slightly to yourself.

"Whew. I thought they'd never leave." The apple drops from your hand as you hear a voice. You turn around frantically, only to be met by a pair of eyes. Green eyes.

The boy is here. He is dressed like he usually is, his top hat adding height. You are face to face, and he wears a lop sided smirk as he stares at you with interest. "You…you're the boy." you stutter out, pointing an accusatory finger at him, stepping backwards. He spreads his arms out. "Guess I am." He says.

You give out a small shriek when he speaks again. His voice is lower than you imagined, but still child-like. "Who are you?" you whisper.

He sticks out a small hand and you jump backwards, for fear it may extend at you. "Relax." He tells you cooly, flexing his fingers. "You're fine." you gently touch my head to confirm his statement. No pain. He was right. You slowly reach forward and shake his hand. "I'm Eli" He tells you, bowing his head. You giggle. "I'm Clare." is your reply. "How old are you?"

He lets go of your hand and adjusts his hat. "Nine years old." He says proudly. "How old are you?"

"Eight and a half." you lie and he laughs. "You're only eight." He tells you and you stick out my tongue in defiance. "You only know that 'cause you're part of inside my head."

He frowns at that. "No I'm not." He says simply. You bob your head up and down. "Yes you are." you say. "You're justa' part of my imagination. You're not real."

Eli look sad. "Am too." He says defensively, taking off his hat.

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Eli gets right up in your face, his nose pushed up against yours. "Am not." He states. You look into his eyes and suddenly, he is so close that you don't know what to say. "Ok." you respond and he takes a step back, fiddling with his hat.

"That's a cool hat." you say, peering at it. "Where'd you get it?"

Eli points his thumb towards his chest. "I made it." He says proudly. You snort in disbelief. "For real?"

"No, for fake." He responds sarcastically. You glare at him, my cheeks heating up. "Why are you here Eli?" You ask him, attempting to look stern, but failing miserably. Curiosity has got the best of you and like the questioning child you are, you want answers.

"I'm here to take you to my home." His reply is simple, yet confusing. He lays down on my couch, nudging his hat over his eyes. "Your home? Why?"

Eli doesn't look at you. "'Cause it's where you belong, silly." He smirks again, and you blush. "Why do I belong there?" you ask and he shrugs. "How should I know? I'm just here to bring you. First I had to make sure it really was you, and now I gotta pick you up."

"Make sure it was me? Who am I supposed to be?"

He pulls his hat up and gives me a sly wink. "You."

You roll your eyes. "Alright then. Who's to say that I'm not really the me that you're looking for? What if I'm a different me and you just have the wrong me?"

His smirk grows wider, more pronounced. "Because we know it's you. We checked."

We? You squint. "Well check again, because I'm not the me you're looking for.

He stands up and touches both of your hands. "But it is you." He tells you, and there is eagerness in his eyes. "You're the you we've been looking for and you can't just change our minds, 'cause we know you're you for a fact." You bite your lip.

"I'm not." you tell him, pulling your hands away.

He groans exasperatedly and picks up your hands again. "We checked." he says again.

"How exactly did you check?" You ask him quickly, making it impossible for him to continue speaking nonsense.

Eli drops his head low at your question. He looks guilty, and as though he doesn't intend on telling you.

Then, it all pieces together.

"You made my head hurt." You murmur. His eyes don't meet yours so you take that as a yes. You stomp down hard on his foot. "Ow!" He yells in pain. "You made my head hurt!" You rip your hands away from his and take a number of steps backwards. "I'm sorry!' He offers, but it makes no difference. "It was the only way I could see you and make sure you were the one!"

You stomp my foot again, this time on the ground. "I'm not the one you're looking for!" You shout, and he falls silent. "I am Clare Diana Edwards of 131 Sander Lane in Toronto, Canada. I have never been outside of the city. I am not the girl you are looking for. I'm sorry." And with that, you turn around and he is facing your back.

You hear his tentative steps come towards you and he places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry." He says again and you stick your nose up in the air. "You'd better be careful." He warns. "You're going to make them mad."

You look at him. "Make who mad?" You ask in suspicion. Eli cups a hand over his mouth and his eyes go wide, as though he has let a secret go. "Nobody." He states. "Now be quiet."

Your eyes narrow. "Who?" You ask again, and this time, Eli covers your mouth with his hand. "You really gotta shut up Edwards." He says, and there is some humor in his voice, but it is lost in the undoubted fear mixed in as well. You shove him off. "Who will I make angry, Eli? Who?"

Eli is silent for a moment and then moves away from you. "Uh oh." He says. "You've really done it now."

"What?" Confusion fills your mind one second, and the next, pain.

Unbearable pain. Pain that is worse than the kind you have felt before. Worse that any other time your head has hurt. You sink to your knees, the pain temporarily blinding you and let out a groan. "Help me." You manage out, stretching your small hand toward Eli. But he simply shakes his head. "It won't do any good." He tells you, his body fleeting, his figure comparing to static. "Make it stop." You moan. "Please."

Eli's face scrunches slightly in sadness. "I'm so sorry Clare." He says, and he disappears entirely. "No!" You scream out, and your body lurches forward. You lie in a feeble position, screaming out, hoping someone will hear you. You raise your head with what little strength you have left. The kitchen is slanting and sliding, the hallway leading to it stretching for miles. The room's pale pink walls become an array of bright colors, shifting between bright oranges and dark blues. You drop your head a let out one final scream. The sound of a slamming door is all you hear before you black out.

. . .

"She's the one."

"Of course she is you dolt."

"Shut up!"

"How long will it take?"

"She'll rest for a bit. Then we'll take her."

"She'll save us?"

"Of course. It's her duty."

"What happens if the queen finds out?"

"She won't. We'll be very careful."

"I don't know about this."

"Quit acting so nervous Elijah."

"We're hurting her."

"It's necessary. You've been hurt your whole life. Don't you want it to stop?"

"..I guess."

"This is how. She's the perfect weapon for the rebellion. She's going to save us all."

. . .

You wake up in your room, your entire family surrounding you. "Clare!" Your mother gasps out, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. "Thank goodness you're alright!"

"Mom?" You question, looking around the room. The voices in your head are gone, and looks of relief fill Darcy and your father's faces. "What happened?" You ask out loud.

A man steps out of the shadows of your room. "You suffered from a quite severe migraine. The nanny found you passed out on the kitchen floor."

You look at him in confusion. "Who are you?"

He extends his hand and you flinch at the memory. "I'm Doctor Chris." He tells you, placing his hand back at his side, but taking note of your expression. "Your case of migraines however is most strange." Dr. Chris begins pacing around your tiny room, taking short steps and then long strides. "They come on like panic attacks rather than your average headache." He looks at you. "I wonder…" His statement trails off.

He studies you for what seems like an eternity. He stares at you like a specimen, and you feel almost uncomfortable under his gaze. Like a bug under a microscope. "You wonder what?" Your mother finally asks him.

Dr. Chris does not answer. Instead, he taps his chin and mutters words to himself. "Mister and Misses Edwards, could I see you outside for a moment?"

Mister and Misses Edwards look at each other for a moment, then give Dr. Chris a small nod. Your mother kisses your forehead. "We'll be right in the hallway dear." She tells you, and you can tell that it is a strain for her to be away from your side.

They exit the room, and you turn to Darcy, who is sitting on her bed, admiring the detail on the sheets. She looks up at your and smiles tentatively. "I could braid your hair if you'd like." She offers.

You bob your head up and down. "Sure"

Darcy steps foreword and sits on the edge of your bed. She divides your hair into three sections, and begins placing one on top of the other. It is a peaceful silence until Darcy speaks. "Clare?" She asks slowly. "Mmm?" You hum in response, your eyes closed. "Are you…alright?" The last word comes out quietly, almost as if she has been choosing the right word.

Your blue eyes open to look at Darcy, who is avoiding your gaze. "Of course I am. You look ahead. "Why wouldn't I-"

You sentence is cut short with a gasp. Before you is Eli, who appears to be quite angry. "Darcy" You whisper. "Would you mind going to get my hairbrush?" Darcy nods, eager to get out of the room, and a lump forms in your throat as you realize your own sister is afraid of you. She dashes out, closing the door behind her.

Eli lets out a growl. "You let the doctor in here." He states, walking to your side, his tiny hands in fists. "My mother called him." You explain to him. Eli runs a hand through his hair. "He needs to leave." He tells you. "Now. Tell your mother to send him off."

"Why?" You question, your eyes narrowing. "He's here to help me."

Eli growls again, and cups your face in his hands. "You need to help us!" He shouts, and you shush him. "My parents are right outside." You murmur.

He rolls his eyes, his hands still on your face. "They can't hear me. They can't see me. No one can. Only you."

You feel tears pricking your eyes. Only you can see him. Oh God.

You really are crazy.

"I don't want to see you." You whisper, and his eyes soften. "I'm sorry Clare." He tells you. "But you have to do this. For me. And for my home. You've got to save us." Tears run down your face. The door knob turns and jiggles slightly, indicating that your parents are coming.

Eli plants a kiss on your forehead. "You doing the right thing." He says into your ear. You wipe your tears from your face. The right thing. You need to do the right thing.

Your parents and Dr. Chris enter into your room. Eli stands beside your bed. All three of the adults appear as though they have reached a verdict of some sort, but Eli's stance is firm and tall, like he won't let them touch you.

And you're stuck in the middle of it all.

"Clare." Dr. Chris speaks. "Your mother, father and I were talking, and we've figured out a way to help you. There is a special hospital in Ontario where we can scan your brain to figure out what is wrong with you. Then, we can give you medication to make your headaches stop. We can do all of this, but we need your cooperation." He raises his eyebrow and asks "Would you like my help Clare?"

You look at Eli, who gives you a reassuring smile. You look back at your parents, who are eagerly awaiting your answer. You bite your lip and look at Dr. Chris. "Yes." You answer.

Everyone in the room smiles, except for one. Eli's eyes go wide and his jaw drops. "Clare, what are you doing?" He asks, his voice slightly raised.

Dr. Chris nods to you. "We'll leave immediately." He tells you, and you nod in confirmation. "Clare!" Eli shouts, waving his hand in front of your face. You ignore him. "Thank you Dr. Chris." You say, and he grins at you.

"Why don't we show you out." Your mother offers, and all three of them head downstairs to the front door.

"CLARE!" Eli shouts, pulling your face to look at his. "What have you done?" He asks in horror.

You glare at him. "I'm making the right choice." You say. "Go away Eli." You tell him. "You're not real. Go away."

Eli gasps, and his body is crackling and disappearing again. "Don't do this Clare." He says.

"You're not real Eli."

"Clare, stop it!"

"You're not real at all!"

"Stop!"

"Go away! You're not real!"

Eli disappears completely. A fresh batch of tears fill your eyes and you pull your covers over your head.

You will go to the hospital.

They will diagnose you with something called Alice in Wonderland Syndrome.

You will be given medication.

You will get better.

You will become a normal girl.

You will go to school and make friends.

You won't be crazy anymore.

You won't get migraines anymore.

And you won't see Eli anymore.

That is, until you turn fifteen.

. . .

Hey guys. Miss me?

This is probably going to be the longest chapter I will write for this story. I was just going to write a small background, and here's what came of it!

Anyways, this is my new story, called "It's a Mad, Mad World."

For those who are confused, it's an Alice in Wonderland type story, only here, Clare has a disease.

Alice In Wonderland Syndrome is in fact a real disease. It causes you to hallucinate like Alice did in Wonderland.

Lewis Carroll was actually believed to have AIWS. The entire story of Alice in Wonderland was said to have been based off of one of his migraines.

Basically, you hallucinate and get migraines. Research it if you'd like, I'll reveal more about it in the story.

Clare is imagining Eli, and also the voices.

Just to clear things up.

I'm not sure how long this story will be. Maybe as long as Enemy, maybe not. I don't really know. I'm really excited about this story, and I hope you guys enjoy it.

Love,

Maya.