A Second to Madness

Just a Second

A SECOND TO MADNESS

Twist Fate Challenge

© 2016 emperatriss

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"We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?"

"You must be, or you wouldn't have come here."

— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

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SHE fell through the rabbit hole.

     That was a long time ago, a mere fleeting dream that bled into a nightmare. Every once in a while, she pondered, thought, wondered, about the vast what ifs stitching her sanity together. What if the verdict had been just? What if the roses had been red? What if the party had been less nonsensical? What if the cake had kept her shrunk? What if the potion had kept her average? What if the white rabbit had stayed a daydream? What if she had been like her sister? And, damn it all, what if she had stayed awake?

     But the queen had wanted her head rolling, the cards had planted white ones instead of red, the tea party had riddled her to mental exhaustion, the cake had multiplied her size, the potion had shrunken her, the white rabbit had distracted her, she had no interest in a book lacking pictures and conversations — and all this, all this dreaming, it had her falling into Wonderland, a figment of her imagination weaved into her reality.

     In this world of madness, Alice lost herself.

     She never escaped its embrace, no, not even by pinching herself nor by walking into a good old trunk of a sturdy tree. All she ever did after running from the Queen of Hearts' wrath was that. Run. Run on her own, forget about the Cheshire Cat, the White Rabbit, the Mad Hatter — forget them all.

     Alas, time prodded her to stop searching for home, to become one with the mad. However, Wonderland got under her skin too late.

     Something stirred in her as she hid in the dark, forever waiting for the day she would wake up by the riverbank, surrounded by pieces fitting together unlike the labyrinthine mad lands she trekked upon.

     Her bones ached.

     Her skin stung.

     Every so often, she checked the bottle and the delicacy. As she remained in Wonderland, the liquid tasted bitter in her throat, reminding her of aging grapes, while the delicacy, it changed, growing smaller and smaller, ultimately mirroring the acerbic flavor her drink held.

     Shrink. Grow. Shrink. Grow.

     All this for the thought of going home.

     Alice was dying from all sorts of things.

     Dying of waiting, dying of hoping, dying of trying — it fed on her until it drove a hole through her heart.

     Everything never resembled their true essence here; she ought to remember that by now, as she trudged towards the towering palace that lay in front of her, its majesty forgotten by the haunting memories that lull her to sleep, only to jolt her back into consciousness in the process. If her imprisonment meant a purpose, a sole hint crossed her mind.