Allice in Mysterious Land (ON HOLD)

5: Catastrophic

I'm like an undersized Santa Claus slipping through a massive chimney. The scars on my palm sting my nerves as they graze against the rough surface.

It's like being plunged into an endless black hole with several branches. Being underground adds to the fear choking my throat.

As my back hits something hard, blinding sunlight pours on my eyes. A loud whooshing comes from the funnel, and before I get up, a big black sack smacks my face, smelling like excessive perfume and rotten tomatoes. It rattles as I set it aside. My gut forbids me from peeking inside. It may worsen my urge to puke.

I'm floating above tons of sacks with flies fluttering about. Trapping me is a huge cylindrical garbage container, made of glass. Its edge tries to grasp the sky.

There's no pickup today since it's Thursday. How should I escape then? This cylinder is half full. I might leap out once the stack gets higher, but how long will it take?

What if those officers find me first?

Mom's farewell echoes in my head, bouncing like a ball in a cave. "Never meet me here again, Allice. Stay safe. Now, go."

I look back at the sky, sucking a foul breath. Escape methods should've been a basic skill taught since our childhood.

Far above the tube, the sky is cloudless and blue. It's like Highlife's territory. But there aren't any sounds around. Not even a chirping bird, or noisy rustlings of branches. No rumbling vehicles either. It's like the upper ground is barren and abandoned—a typical Lowlife trait.

But today's meant to be a quiet day since everyone should stay home.

What am I going to do with Miro? He isn't the best cousin, but his mom is arrested because of me.

Has Lin-Irene got her search warrant?

Twelve more sacks disturb my musing in the giant cylinder. My scars itch at the pooling sweat. My limbs ache; they've been stretched for too long.

I spend the next hours trying some escape methods: stacking the sacks, climbing up, and using sticky trashes on my hands to guide me up with piled sacks supporting me from below. I lose my strength after the fifth try.

A part of me has accepted being taken back to prison, or OCZ's office, for further questioning, however unreasonable that might be. But the other part still wishes for a miracle. The Bible always brags about hope in the gravest of moments, right? Perhaps there will be one soon...

A savage rumbling intrudes the silence—someone's coming. But when the rumble returns, I fall back on the sacks. It's my growling stomach. I stretch my arms and legs, struggling to keep awake with fatigue nagging inside.

The stupid bakery's jingle. Why, from any other songs, does it appear now? "All my hunger shall end... with Humpty Yummy's breads..."

Footsteps. I stop singing, sharpening my ears. Several footsteps on the ground above.

Have they found me?

I grab a few big sacks for cover. I won't get caught that easily. They have to struggle through this mess first. Leaving a slim 'peephole', I hold my breath like I'm underwater.

Voices also come from above. Subtly, like a breeze. They're approaching.

Are the officers wearing navy-blue uniforms, like the ones in the prison? Or tan brown, like those arresting Dad and Mom? Or...

But instead of vicious-faced adults staring back at me, a couple of youngsters appear, scanning through the piling rubbish.

Where did I see that boy's platinum hair before? His eyes shine with eagerness, as bright as his hair. A rope is slung across his chest, a mask covers his chin, and a belt of strange devices dangles on his waist. The girl wears patched overalls, her single braid mimicking the boy's rope.