Disclaimer: I own nothing.
You never know what insanity is until you see the smiling cat or chase after the rabbit in the waistcoat. You never know what madness is until you drink tea with the Hatter or play croquet with the Queen of Hearts.
I know what insanity is.
I know what madness is.
So here I reside. In the Aspen Institute for the Mentally Insane.
I'm not insane. Just different.
Can you keep a secret?
I'm planning on finding a way out of here. This isn't the type of place you "get better" at. This is the type of place people send you when you can't conform to the norm of society. Lost causes all around. Tarnished hopes and dreams turned to dust. Pathetic lowlifes, who look like people, but can hardly be considered human.
Think of a rug.
Now think of dirt being swept under it.
Well, this place is the rug and the people in it are the dirt. Swept away to be forgotten. As the saying goes: "Out of sight, out of mind".
Might as well allow the world to forget me. Because I've already forgotten the world.
Alice stared down at the journal, hand shaking. She felt like a caged animal in this place. Noises echoed everywhere. Howls and screams and whimpers and murmurs.
This wasn't an asylum.
This was Hell.
And the devil wasn't as hideous as one would think. No, she had a cruel beauty to her, expression and facial features as sharp as the edge of a blade. Her eyes were silver and cold.
And they bored into Alice as if trying to drill holes into her head. The noises didn't faze her one bit, even as they slipped through the door, like it wasn't even closed.
"Alice?"
The blonde brought her head up, blue eyes narrowing slightly. Her trembling had nothing to do with the woman that sat on the other side of the desk, watching her, and she wanted to make sure the lady knew it.
"What are you writing?" she inquired in a tone that suggested although it was asked, it wasn't a question. She was used to making demands, not requests.
Alice closed the spiral, placing the pen in the coil. She offered up nothing. Her own version of a 'screw off'.
The woman didn't get it. Either that or she did and she wasn't taking it for an answer. Not that the teen had expected anything less. She had only just met Dr. Sharp – a fitting name if there ever was one – and she was finding the woman especially easy to read. Although most people would probably disagree.
She was too predictable though, in Alice's opinion. Demanding. Hell-bent on making sure she had control of the situation. She loved power. The more she had, the better. Unfortunately, Alice wasn't something she could control. And she didn't like that. Not one bit.
The fifteen-year-old saw it on her face when she reached out a hand. Her fingers were long and slim, nails sharp and painted blood-red. "Give it to me, Alice. I need to make sure you are safe here and won't cause harm to yourself or the others. . . . You want to be safe, don't you, Alice?"
An implied threat?
No, Alice thought to herself, bringing her eyes up from those red claws and into the hard orbs. A definite promise.
She opened her mouth to speak for the first time since she arrived, but the door suddenly flew open. A man dressed in scrubs held onto the doorframe, panting. There was a long cut on his cheek. Blood trickled down his face and dripped from his chin.
When Dr. Sharp's eyes darkened, Alice briefly thought of a shark with bloodlust. Be careful. You are treading in dangerous waters.
The tick-tock of the clock suddenly caught her attention. It was six o'clock. Tea time. But then again, in Wonderland, it was always tea time. The Hatter had "murdered Time".
"What is it, Westley?" Sharp snapped.
"Uh, w-well, we have a-a situation," he stammered, fearful.
Alice blinked. Is he afraid of the shark that's making slow circles around him? Can he see the dorsal fin slicing through the water? Can he see the hunger in her eyes? Eager to rip something to shreds?
She huffed, getting up from the swivel chair. "Must I do everything myself around here?" she grumbled, moving around the desk. Her cold, calculating eyes went to Alice. "I'll be right back."
It was a warning.
Where would she go? From where her head bobbed above the surface, she could make out no islands or boats. No, she was stranded in shark-infested waters.
But the shark was leaving.
Alice waited until the door closed before turning back to the now empty desk. She frowned, surprised. A small glass vial sat in the center of the desk. It hadn't been there before.
Attached the thin neck was a tag. In small, cursive handwriting, it read: Drink Me.
The familiar instruction made Alice's heart skip a beat. She stood, pushing the chair back, and grabbed the vial up from the desktop. The notebook fell to the carpeted floor.
She could just barely make out a harsh voice and the click-clacking of high heels against the tiled floor outside the office door. Dr. Sharp was coming back.
Without a second thought, Alice pulled the cork from the bottle and placed the rim to her lips. She threw her head back, downing the sweet yet tangy liquid.
Her stomach churned and the room spun.
Next thing she knew, she was falling down . . . down . . .
. . . Down . . .