In Alice's Image

Chapter 1
In The Golden Afternoon

It all starts with a dream, a vision, a nightmare. Call it what you want, it all varies with each girl, however either way you will end up the same, just like the rest. For myself specifically, it started with a pleasant dream -- a vivid one at that -- one that would never foretell of the horrors I would have to endure in the near future. This all could have been avoided for me, if I had just listened to my Grandmother. I was a foolish girl though, and despite obvious warnings that would become evident in later events, I had ultimately doomed myself once I looked into that mirror.

In my dream, I would find myself adorned in a a pale blue dress and white pinafore, striped stockings and black mary janes on my feet. My long blonde hair is accented with a black bow as I sit under a tree, my blue orbs eyeing the leaves painted the oddest of colours; flowers coming to life and singing to me a lullaby that drifts along the wind. It's peaceful as I always glance up at the blue canvas sky, not a cloud in site which in turn, always makes me smile. However, when the flowers' lullaby grows louder and my eyes begin to feel heavier, it is then that I always catch the smallest glimpse of that peculiar rabbit in the waistcoat, pointing at his pocket watch that reads 7:49 with the red castle in the distance. 

That is where my dream stops and I awake to the sound of my buzzing alarm, reading 7 AM as it typically does. Each day as my eyes flutter open, the scene is still very fresh in my mind; it's only when I go to sit up that my mind is washed of my dream. My dream is the last thing on my thoughts though as the mornings sun pours onto the floorboards of my room, the sound and smells of my mother making breakfast rushing into my senses as a sign of a new day. Even if it is a new day, the mornings are usually all the same. Get up, take a shower, get dressed, go down and eat breakfast, and finally I'm off to school. Nothing truly extraordinary -- however it is the morning, which I'm none too thrilled about in the first place. I'm not exactly a morning person.

"Alice," my mother calls to me as she hears my footsteps coming down the flight of stairs. "remember we're going to visit grandmother after school. So make sure you get out as soon as possible. You know how terribly busy the roads are."

"Yeah, I know," I simply reply, sitting down next to my sister Cheyenne. "How is she doing by the way -- Grandma, that is?"

"She's doing fine. The doctor says she is having mild problems with her bladder, but that's all." she comments, tucking a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear as it dangles in her face.

I nod as I glance at the plate of toast and the banana, picking up the former to butter and slap on some strawberry jam before taking a bite out of it. My mother is busy cleaning up the kitchen mess (albeit what little there is), her blue eyes giving off a sparkle of energy which I find astounding each day. It's only then that I spy Cheyenne however, who is giving Rodney -- my brother and the youngest out of the three of us -- a god awful glare as she chews on her own peanut butter toast. "What's your problem?" I question, her hazel-eyed glare then transferring to me.

Unfazed I continue to eat my breakfast, all the while keeping eye contact with the 12 year old. "It's none of your business," she replies in a snarky manner, returning to her glaring session with Rodney.

My younger brother, who is only four, continues to eat his cereal though, completely oblivious to my sister's evil gaze. "What did he do this time Cheyenne?" I sigh, beginning to peel my banana.

"I'll tell you what he did!" she then states out loud, catching the attention of both my mom and Rodney with a swish of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "He ruined my lipstick! He got into it and ate it!"

"Cheyenne, he did not eat it. And, I told you already, I'll buy you a new one." My mom interjects, taking my sisters now empty plate.

"But-!"

"Yeah, besides..." My eyes narrow at the smaller girl as I cut her off, my lips forming into an unimpressed frown. "When I was your age, I never wore lipstick, let alone any make up. I was at least 15 when I started putting that stuff on."

She only rolls those hazel eyes of hers in a mocking manner as she scoffs, sitting up from the table abruptly to go and grab her backpack. I continue to eat my banana as she disappears into the hallway of our home, my eyes then travelling towards Rodney, who in turn gives me a confused look. "What's wrong with Sis?" he asks in his childish voice. I myself getting up from my spot at the table to throw the banana peel in the garbage.

"Girl stuff," Is my answer, mussing his short brunette mop of hair as I pass by him. "Don't worry your little head over it, buddy."

It's then that Rodney smiles at me, that cavity inducing quirk of his lips almost too cute to handle as I smile back at him. I wish all kids were as sweet as the little boy I luckily can claim as my little bro, I also wish that Cheyenne was that nice of a kid at four years old -- god knows she was the devil's spawn if there ever was one. Speaking of said evil child though, my sister struts into the kitchen with her backpack in hand, slamming it onto the table that almost causes my brothers glass of milk to tip over. "Look at this!" she screeches, pointing to a line of what I assume to be red lipstick on her backpack.

My mother sighs as she shakes her head, pulling out a rag from the sink as she grabs Cheyenne's backpack from her to wash it off. "It's no big deal -- look, it's already coming off." Mom states, showing her the faded red line that was now barely visible.

"But Mom, Rodney isn't supposed to touch my stuff!" Cheyenne retorted, stomping her foot childishly onto the floor.

This time is was my turn to roll my eyes as I walked out of the kitchen and into the entrance of my home to grab my sweater and backpack. Really -- I rub my temples in frustration -- could she be any more of a pain? As I hear Cheyenne and my Mom go at it I rummage through my backpack to make sure all of my books are there; slipping on my red shoes and dark sweater before slinging my backpack over my shoulder. While Cheyenne and Rodney both attended the Elementary school that was about a 15 minute drive from my house, my school was simply two streets down from where we lived. Which was nice, considering I didn't have to deal with Cheyenne's constant blathering. "Mom!" I called, waving goodbye to Rodney who spotted me from the entrance. "I'm going now!"

Mom takes a break from her argument with Cheyenne to shout out a: "Have a good day!", before returning to her previous session with my sister.

Walking out the front door, the sun pelts me with a warm stare familiar to summer despite the time being only early May. The warm atmosphere is nice and welcoming -- awaking me with a certain vigor which most teenagers my age should have. Not that being 18 was much of a teenager anymore, an adult really, but nonetheless you get my point. As I walk down the sidewalk, a vehicle passing me by every now and then as my house was located more so away from the shopping area's of the town, I sigh -- taking in a deep breathe of the smell of morning dew on the fresh blades of grass. It's a nice day, my attitude bursting with optimism as I walk with a smile.

However, that smile soon fades as I spot an obscure figure down the street from me, one that makes me stop in my tracks. It appears to be a rabbit; it's coat of fur white and it's eyes a blood red, staring at me with a look of wonder. It's not that rabbit's aren't exactly a peculiar site where I live; the town is small and surrounded by brush and forest, so small animals are not uncommon. But if my eyes aren't deceiving me (my vision 20/20 after all), I could swear it was wearing a waistcoat. I blink a few times in bewilderment at the site, rubbing my eyes quickly to glance at it again that, surely enough, is still looking at me with those blood red orbs.

I can feel my hands slightly shake and my head go a little dizzy, odd sensations running through me as I keep eye contact with the small creature. But, as I turn to look away, I see that it is pointing at something, something in his hand with a look on it's face like I should be concerned. I'm not concerned though, confused with such odd feelings floundering about in my gut, my eyes soon catching the object the rabbit is pointing to -- the watch in its hand that reads 7:49.

Just like in my dream.