The rabbit hole didn’t lead to a tea party this time.
As Alice tumbled through the dark, she didn’t pass rocking chairs or bookshelves. Instead, she brushed past hanging bundles of dried hemlock and jars of preserved nightmares. When she finally landed, the grass wasn’t green; it was a bruised purple, and the air smelled of ozone and singed sugar.
The Shadow Over Wonderland
Wonderland had changed. The Queen of Hearts was gone, replaced by something much more calculated. High atop the mushroom forest sat a castle made of jagged obsidian. There lived The Witch of the Withered Rose.
She didn’t want heads; she wanted stories. She fed on the whimsy of others until they were nothing but hollow shells. The Mad Hatter sat in a corner, staring at a blank teacup, his madness replaced by a terrifying, quiet sanity.
The Encounter
Alice wandered into the clearing of the Great Oak, where the Witch stood waiting. She wasn’t green or warty; she was tall, draped in silk the color of an oil slick, with eyes that looked like solar eclipses.
“You’re late, Alice,” the Witch purred, stirring a cauldron that simmered with silver smoke. “I’ve already bottled the Cheshire Cat’s grin. It makes a lovely nightlight.”
“I don’t think I like your decorating taste,” Alice said, her voice trembling only slightly. “And I’d like my friends back, if it’s all the same to you.”
The Witch laughed, a sound like glass breaking. “In this world, Alice, ‘curiouser and curiouser’ is a death sentence. Give me your imagination, and I’ll let you go back to your boring parlor in London.”
The Twist of Logic
Alice looked at the cauldron. She remembered that in Wonderland, things were only as powerful as you believed them to be.
“You’re not a witch,” Alice said boldly, stepping forward. “You’re just a bad habit. You’re the feeling of growing up and forgetting how to play.”
The Witch shrieked, her obsidian form flickering. “I am the end of dreams!”
“No,” Alice countered, “You’re just a very tall, very grumpy woman in a dress that needs a good wash. And since this is my dream, I think it’s time for a change in the weather.”
Alice didn’t use a sword or magic. She simply imagined the sun. Not just a normal sun, but a sun made of lemon drops and laughter.
The Result:
* The obsidian castle melted into a giant puddle of blackberry jam.
* The Witch shrank until she was no bigger than a thimble, scurrying away into the roots of a tree.
* The Cheshire Cat’s grin popped out of its jar and reattached itself to the air with a satisfied pop.
Alice sat up in the meadow back home, the smell of damp grass filling her lungs. She looked down and noticed a single, withered black rose petal tucked into her apron. She smiled and tossed it into the wind.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 