A/N: A short, confused piece from the point of view of one Alice Longbottom, about all the pretty little ponies ...
My name is Alice. At, least, I think it is. It's a nice name. If it's not my name, I'd like it to be. Alice, Alice, Al, Ally, Lice, Liccey …
I have a story to tell.
I can't really remember it all that well. Something about flying purple fishes and rainbows you can eat and cotton clouds that are really Q-tips. I think. Or maybe it's about all the pretty little ponies … All the pretty little ponies … that's a nice saying. Someone should make it into a song.
I used to have a family, I think. I remember things, sometimes, when all the rainbows in my head stop swirling and fade a little bit so I can see better and the salamanders stop moving underneath my feet. I remember a boy … he had black hair. Maybe it was brown … or yellow, or red, or purple, or maybe green. I like green. I think my eyes are green. Unless they're blue. Or orange.
His name is Neville. The boy, with the purple hair, unless it was yellow or red or green, I mean. I love him. I love him very, very much. So much. It hurts, sometimes, that I can't remember why I love him so much … but then I start to remember something I don't want to, and I run away back into the rainbows in my head and swim through the sea with the fishes, except there's no sea, just desert all around, and all the fishes are piled up around me, dead. They're all sparkly. I like sparkly things. They're so pretty and sparkly …
A boy with black hair, unless it's purple or orange or green, comes to see me, sometimes. I know. I see him. He comes with an old lady, unless she's young, with a bird growing out of her head, except you can't have a bird growing out of your head, but she does … I give him things, because I love him so much, even though I can't remember why because of all the rainbows and little fishies, unless they're butterflies, and the lady who's either young or old doesn't like what I give him, but he does, I can tell. He smiles.
I don't remember how to smile. How to smile? Howtosmile, howto smy-ell, h-ow-tosm-ile!
I forget things, sometimes. I think I forget more than I remember, because I can't remember quite a lot, and it seems to me sometimes that I ought to be doing something, only I can't think of what, and if I try to think, it leads to the bad place that I must never ever go. So I don't. Think, I mean. Unless it's remember …
My name is Alice, I think.
And I have a story to tell …