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Rated: 13+ · Novella · Fantasy · #2103577
Another warped version of Wonderland
Cosmic Spirals Magnetic Undertow (Masked as Wonderland)

Rumbling thunderclouds gather overhead, casting shadows throughout the deciduous forest. We hear footfalls rapidly approaching, as the white rabbit deftly scrambles around the bend. Vest buttoned askew, betraying nervousness hovering about the endangered hare.
Unflatteringly, a stutter erupts from whiskers in dire need of a trim.
"L-l-late f-for a-a very important d-d-d-date.", escapes breathlessly, uttered to no one in particular. Reaching to clasp the flimsy chain linking our eccentric, cottontail buck to confining measurements of time. Pocket watch gleams faintly into the fashionably tardy jesters smudged eyeglasses.
Tripping over a gnarled, exposed root of the ancient, enshrouded magical tree, tumbling headlong, as if diving to realms beyond here, between there, and stretching into never lands of blackened forever. Plump raindrops begin to fall from cloud cover resonating with murderous darkness.
Alice rushes from her hiding place to stare forlornly to depths devoid of a singular speck of light. Slightly muffled snicker pauses to capture Alice in embarrassing contemplativeness. Abruptly, spinning upon her hated saddle shoes, her petticoat twirls in sudden motion.
Among the decrepit branches, she barely discerns glowing, slitted pupils glaring malevolently at her. Amazement overwhelms the girl, lost even to herself, as a mangy purple cat blinks into existence. Involuntarily, she takes a step back to put more distance between herself and the mythical magician. Belatedly, she raises her palm, flickering her wrist, in semblance of a greeting.
Snidely, the Cheshire Cat gruffly snubs her attempt to recover her offense. "My child", purrs the odd colored feline, " where do you think you are going in my woodlands?" Head cocked slightly in mock pleasantries, "Don't you know this path is forbidden from travel?"
Covering her head timidly, Alice breathes the words, "No, I'm sorry, I didn't."
Puffed up by her unintended disrespect, the fabled cat explodes indignantly in raging fury, "Well, young lady, you should make it your business to be aware of trails you traverse!"
"Accept my sincere apologies Sire Cheshire Cat, my ignorance has lead me to interrupt your late afternoon nap. There is no map, of which I'm allowed to peek at, to plot my trek through thorny underbrush to X marks the spot." Alice's eyes widen as she realizes the bite her words glean to the tattered ears of this cranky, orge of a cat.
"Miss", hisses the Cheshire under his foul breath, " You must take me as some misguided, miscreant of a fool." Pride and arrogance blind the tomcat from the fact that Alice has slipped through his grasp unseen. Bellowing after the escape artist as clever as Houdini, shouting, "If I find you little girl, you are going to regret the day you laid eyes on me!! You are indebted to pay my bountiful fee to roam unscathed in this primeval, wastelands wilderness!"
Fearfully, the lass tiptoes to the center of a gale of towering, overgrown, enormous plants. Shaking with thoughts of exposure by the homicidal, insane, crusty remnant of the last Cheshire Cat.
She fails to notice the blooms above her, tracking delicately cautious progress. Taking princess orchids whereabouts, turned towards the sun. In the eleventh hour, Alice realizes it's too late, she's trapped in a circular ring of flowers, who should have been faceless.
She rubs her eyes in defiance, thinking she has imagined the humanoid features wrinkling the blossoms. A cough breaks the honey thick silence.
"Girl, from whence did you come?", as her visions a lights upon the royal empress, spoken regally to condescend a perceived peasent. Speaking softly, so as not to disturb the floral concubines ringing the gales outline.
"Madame, excuse my intrusion and please pardon the folly of my burdensome flight of fancy.", pleading from the tiny voice emerging from the child's lips.
Huffing sardonically as blustering whips of air puff from reddened cheeks. Unmitigated authority enclose the Orchid princess in expert protective fogginess. Lifting hooded eyesight to scrutinize the willow thin switch of a lass.
Whispers begin to circle Alice in muted mimes unspoken madness. Above the humming of intertwined judgmenta, Alice hears maniacal laughter echoing......
"We are all mad here.", spoken by a disembodied phantom voice. "Do you desire to join in straight-jacketed parodies conceived in lunacy?", assaulting the missing maiden's scarcely held sanity.
Darting to the left deceptively, as all the flowering deviants follow her advancement, misleading the elite outer courts with distractions, to abscond quietly.
Sprinting beneath the plush canopy, Alice skedaddles to points unknown.
Slowing to gasp, filling lungs with precious, pilfered oxygen. Registering the spooky, overhanging moss, brushing back her untamed tresses. Studying the pinpoint vicinity, trying to navigate a steady, unwavering course.
Smoke wafts restlessly onto her face, blown from an inebriated caterpillar. Seated atop a multi-hued cap of a gigantic, poisonous mushroom.
The colorful insect stretches to crackle its three sets of appendages. Detecting that his blitzed reverie has lost its euphoric dreamscape.
Bloodshot perceptions viewed through vaguely, indistinct confusion. Sluggishly, the leviathan turns its upper thorax to face Alice.
Musty, choking fumes reek of sickly sweetness, left over from the drug.
"WHO R U?", revolves lazily to question the disillusioned child's presence.
"Alice. I am Alice of Salisbury Station, adjoining the outskirts of London.", her response is bold, as the buzzed caterpillar poses no threat whatsoever.
Quizzically, the silhouetted, glorified worm, shakes his head in befuddlement, "London? This London you speak of is imaginary. Stop trying to throw me off of your unusual scent."
Lethargic behemoth yawns with fatigued, stagnant concentration. Lids start to drift on drowsy divergence, as the sandman laces the insect in pixie dust. Listing to one side, as if extreme labor has exhausted this slothful sluggard. Stupified and stoned, the arthropod rests it's doped up exoskeleton atop it's throne mushroom.
Slyly, edging to the sheltering redwoods, petrified to almost extinction. Alice considers how this morning started out with promises of splendor, only to become this nightmare replaying endlessly, looping the mind's distorted camera to puzzle the finish line.
Beads of moisture cascade, spilling over reddish-pink, swollen tear ducts. Thus horrid daytrip needs to come up from dysfunction for fresh air.
Hunger gnaws at the lining of her tiny, acidity stomach, she is parched to extreme dehydration, as she journeys ever onwards.
Witnessed from peering outward amid the matrix of massive, unrivaled confines of paloeolithic timber, Alice ascertains that her observation is the most normal aspect since upon her arrival.
Lengthy, rectangular adornment of furniture, is decorated with a lacey tablecloth. Littered and strewn about the wooden expanse of algebraic area are fragile teacups, kettles, saucers piled high with scones, and square lumps of crystallized sugar.
Seated around the faded buffet, containing a graveyard of guzzled, tealeaf swill, Alice stealthily creeps from behind her concealing pigeonhole of protective armor. Suddenly, appearing to instantaneously grasp her tender flesh, as she reaches for a dribble to quench her thirst. Vise-like grip presses the delicate, slender bones together, crushing her digits.
"What have we here?", a Top hat gains momentum, as a pock-marked face lingers tp grin underneath.
"Who sent you to thieve this rarest mixture of tea leaves and sugarcane?", the nuances heard fleetingly, buried inside the velvety voice, provoke in her unrestrained terror. The girl trues to wrench her wrist from the painful visage of the Mad Hatter.
She knows that, although seemingly normal, this script of the story is the most dangerous and abnormal predicament she's tried to survive yet.
"Sire, none sent me. I am obliged to compel you morally to indulge and alleviate my scorched esophagus with your cherished commodity my body craves. I would be unable to adequately repay your kindness in thankfulness.", the crackling vibrato belies and contradicts the fact that she's far past the point of begging. Panic and dread nag lagging synapses firing in pure anxiety. Either he says "yes" or he says "no", the outcome is beginning to look bleak and defeated.
"Ma'am, your indulgence is none of my concern. What is of my concern is your knowledge of the location of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb. If I were a gambling man, I'd bet that they put you up to this mischievousness.", a wicked sparkle relays the message of craziness spotted briefly.
"Sire, I humbly beg of you, please satisfy and quench the fires of parched flames devouring my throat!". She is near to tears again, sniffling to keep them at bay. "My lord! Please allow me to nourish my thirst and we will extrapolate some type of payment."
Surprisingly, he thrusts the fine China teacup hatefully, into her hands. Greedily, she slurs the miniscule drops of moisture, to wet her tongue. The Mad Hatter bows sensually, unwittingly raping her essence with the depths of his vacant, shriveling stare.
"Harlot!", he shrieks accusingly, "You have robbed me by way of bribery!", Mad Hatter's jaw rests on his chest in disbelief.
"Trollop! You were sent to plunder my recipe of perfect sweet tea!", derangement evident in the ill posture in his stance. Afraid, Alice braves the test to retreat slightly from the moth-ridden dementia of mental illness blanketing this sad excuse of a man. The Mad Hatter gained his name for an obvious reason, and his lucidity leaking from missing marbles in action, was the main reason.
Her irises slide sideways to peripherally cling to keep the overflowing, sweaty tea pitcher in her line of sight. Meandering anonomously into regions to claim the hydrating prize and run like the wind.
Bulging eyes expose strain of Mad Hatter's rising blood pressure unchecked, goaded by thoughts that this anarchy of travesty was for the Tweedle's amusement.
Flushed neck impales the throbbing vein, alarmingly between the Mad Hatter's gaze; temples expand then collapse, rigid tremors besiege the Hatter, as a seizure constricts the beats carrying life-giving blood throughput his enlarged heart.
A slick thread of spittle escapes unhindered from the Hatter's slightly parted lips. A groan vibrates the Mad Hatter's chest, as Alice watches in astonished shock, the ludicrous, schizophrenic breathes his hiccuping, last breath. Slamming uselessly upon his chest with a fist balled to excavate the shallow veins, deflated and caving in on themselves.
Taking flight to make her get away, she bolts hastily from the tragedy, as it unfolds. Regardless of the swiftness with which she scams to retreat the priceless liquid she snagged from the prison of the Mad Hatter's hallucination; she fails to waste a single drop. Alice continues to split from reality, to taste the refined sugar and herbal tea sliding down her gullet.
Aimlessly, proceeding without a thought paid to acknowledge the madness of the Mad Hatter. The little girl experiences de'javu, as arthritic joints rebel as elderly memories trip into youth.
Alice makes out the faint bubbling of a spring feeding a pristine stream. Oppressive heaviness steal consciousness from a kidnap victim in another version of instrung events.
Weariness of irretrievable skeleton keys to unlock previous bygone days vanished, to be neglectfullyjn squandered by a youthful lady who misplaced the transcending prescription, as one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small, to step through the doorway separating dimensional time.
Sunlight beams directly onto closed eyelids, making sleep impossible, as she awakens from her slumber.
She perceives the kitten's throaty vibrations tickling her neck, squinting through pupils dilated by dimness.
The scenery has changed from fantastical to the memory of earlier skipping her lessons to take am unsupervised hike in the park. The trail lead one direction, while she wandered into nightmarish dreamscapes of Wonderland, disguised as the daydream of fanciful, chaotic ramblings, encompassing a deranged mind.

Was a straight-jacket hidden in her future wardrobe? She could only wonder??
© Copyright 2016 Sasha Renee (gypsy_orchid at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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