Allice in Mysterious Land (ON HOLD)

2: Unexpected

Painful aches stab my body when I wake up. It's 10 PM; what kind of nap takes five hours? There aren't any raindrops against the window, so the storm must've stopped.

With my legs scattered haphazardly on the couch and arms stretching backwards, it's like I'm chasing something above my head. Chills that rain supposed to bring, maybe? The storm lasted for hours, but I still leave some sweat on both the couch's armrest and my hoodie.

The stupid cramps from my joints force me to sit properly. Which one, between Dad and Mom, passed these bad sleeping habits to me?

Once my heel touches the floor, muddy waters already wander above my ankle. Great, now I don't have any clean pairs of shoes and socks. How bad was the storm? Flood is this flat's common visitor, but its arrival never bothers anyone. At least my socks are always spared.

Now I need to wash and dry them. Can I use them tomorrow morning? Should I borrow Miro's? I wriggle my feet out of the soggy pair with much struggle since an unpleasant scent wafts around.

I look around, sighing at the mess. The flood brings some weeds, mud... and a floating shrimp with a pair of claws on its head and bulging eyes. It's upside down, with stiffly small legs. Its thumb-sized body is charred, like it just escapes from a grill.

Very unlike normal shrimps. It might be dead, but I itch to call Auntie Morgan. She might teach me about it. Without proper schooling, my source of knowledge is only Auntie Morgan, an aspiring zoologist whose brain can grasp any information except simple things like cooking, cleaning, and ironing. The animal fact she brings up is always interesting, and this one will be no different.

Skipping to the dishwasher, I scoop the unmoving creature into a pan, and climb upstairs. Either out of my excitement or clumsiness, my bare feet almost slip on the damp stairs several times.

Both doors are opened. The one ahead of me, which is dark and quiet, is Miro's. Light snores drift out of it. Meanwhile, Auntie Morgan's room still has some lights on. I knock the door gently and stare at her soaked pajamas on the desk chair, my nose scrunching up at how she hasn't bathed, or changed, since this morning. Several buckets of water lie in the center of the room, keeping the foul scent of rain and mix it with the stuffiness of book pages. There are also plenty of rain patches on her uneven bed, the latter signing how only one side is often used.

If Uncle Oregon hadn't left to Biliya Republic Army, Auntie Morgan would've cared more about lots of things.

She adjusts her wide-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Allice. What brings you here?" Her voice is shaky, frostbitten.

"I found this in the flood." I step into her room and hand the pan over. She cringes, either realizing that it's her precious pan, or the burnt scales of the shrimp scare her. Lifting the pan to her nose, she sniffs it, closing her eyes.

A moment later, her scream rattles the whole flat.

Clinging onto her nose are the shrimp's claws. It isn't dead... beezus. Auntie Morgan yanks it away, but it barely budges. Blood, whoever it belongs to, seeps out like a fount. I rush to her side to try ripping the claws off her nose, but they sink deeper instead.

"The pan." They begin to pinch her air supply.

I snatch it from her limp hands, wavering between the two. "What should I do?" My heart thumps loudly. The pan shakes in my grip.

"Now." She yelps, removing both her hands from the shrimp.

Muttering thousands of apologies, I swing the pan. It clangs against them. The shrimp falls to the floor in an ungraceful way, and I hurry to scoop it into a bucket of rain. Its twitching legs graze my palm, but I flip it off before it can cause more damage. Auntie Morgan clutches her wounded—and hopefully, not broken—nose, collapsing to the floor as well.