The first Alice, bravely,
held a sword in a hand and headed to Wonderland
Cutting down various things,
She created a crimson passage
The wood was dense with black trees and bushes. Everywhere she turned around, there were life; everything was so darkly fresh, alive, breathing. She could almost hear the plants respiring in and out, in and out. She smiled, closed her eyes, and listened to the rhythm of the life.
Then she realized that she had a sword in her hand. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life; the metal was purely silver, glistening even though there wasn't a ray of light entering through the thick foliage. The handle was red, red as blood. What a perfect, sensual weapon, excellently fitting for her. She smiled at it as if it were a gentle lover. Softly, as a lover would hold another's hand, she tightened the grip on the sword's hilt; the muscle and sinew grasped it strongly. The handle of the sword fit flawlessly against the palm of her hand, as if it were made especially for her. No, it was made for her. She didn't know who had made it, nor did she care. It was not important. What was important was that here, in this god-forsaken forest, she was free to do whatever she wanted. Whatever it may be.
She began to walk. There was no straight road in this wood. She went wherever her feet took her. As she started to traipse the black wood, she tentatively raised her magnificent sword and brandished it. The sound of the metal cutting through the air and a branch of a nearby tree swished into her ear. It was pure music. Nothing in this world would sound like it. Entranced by it, she swung the sword over and over, not caring what it sliced through: flowers, bushes, twigs, branches, trees. Swish, swish, swish, and soon she realized that there was blood flowing out of the wounds inflicted on plants. She turned her head around to see that she had left a path of bright crimson, marring the black forest floor with red blood. Fresh blood poured out more and more from the trees, wetting the ground. She lifted her sword to see that it was awash in blood, as well as her hand and arm and torso and her face. She was showered in red as was her sword. An enchanted, insane smile played upon her face. She wanted to scream out in joy at the top of her lungs.
Oh, what a wonderful world this was! She ended up laughing out loud, doubling up and unable to stop until her sides hurt. Her own sound of laughter deafened her from hearing the ominous sounds. The wood was no longer quiet. There was a low echo of a sound, a moan. Where it was coming from was ambiguous, because it was coming from the every corner of the wood. Or the forest itself was making the sound; the trees moved slowly, its branches swaying in the air. The moan became a whisper, the whisper lowly making its way to the ears of the woman.
"It hurts…" the whisper resembled the moan, and it was so quiet she almost missed it; but she did hear it. Her maniac laughter stopped abruptly.
"It hurts… it hurts so much… why did someone do this to us? Who? Who did it…?" the voice chilled her insides and blood, and froze her backbone. She stood there, stooped slightly from the laughter a few moments ago, but now unable to move from a sense of fear. She couldn't exactly define where it was coming from. It was as if it was surrounding her, poking her everywhere. Her hand holding the sword trembled, and as her hand did, the sword was shaken as well. A drop of blood, which had been dangerously hanging from the edge of the sword, dropped. It splashed into the scarlet ground without making a sound. Suddenly, a scream boomed in her ears.
"YOU ARE THE ONE WHO DID IT!!!!!!" before she even had a time to react, the black stalks and vines-stained red and cut in parts- reached out to her, not to rescue her but to hold her. The thick vines gagged her in her mouth and the stalks tied her hands, legs and torso, binding her so tight she could scarcely breathe through her squashed lungs. She struggled in vain; slowly, agonizingly slowly, the plants dragged her into the deepest part of the wood. Her screams were muffled, but even if they weren't, nobody would have heard her. Her fingernails left a mark on the ground and barks of the trees as she strained to escape this bondage. But in the end, there was only silence.
All was left of her was the sword, dripping with fresh blood, and the red path that would never be restored.
That Alice, deep inside the wood,
Was shut up like a prisoner
Except for the trail left in the forest,
there was no way of knowing what became of her
