Alice’s Rhyming Return to Wonderland
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Alice in Mirrorland
Prologue: The Splintering
It was an ordinary afternoon, which was quite suspicious, for Alice had learned long ago that “ordinary” things have a habit of becoming extraordinary the moment one looks away. She was sitting in the drawing-room, watching the fire mutter to itself in the grate and glancing now and then at the great Looking-Glass above the mantelpiece.
The Looking-Glass had never struck her as trustworthy. For one thing, it was altogether too polished, as though it knew secrets it was unwilling to share. For another, it sometimes showed her reflection doing things she was certain she had not done—like tapping its foot when she was standing still, or frowning when she felt rather jolly.
This afternoon, however, the glass seemed well-behaved. Alice tilted her head; so did Alice-Through-the-Glass. Alice stuck out her tongue (not very politely, but no one was looking); her reflection copied her precisely. “At least you’re obedient today,” she said.
But no sooner had she said this than the Looking-Glass Alice gave the tiniest smirk, as though mocking her. Alice’s heart skipped, and she leaned closer. “That wasn’t me,” she whispered.
The smirk grew.
Then came the crack.
It began as a thin silver line across the surface, like a spiderweb spun at impossible speed. Alice drew back with a cry, for the crack was spreading, branching into a hundred more, until the whole mirror was a maze of glittering shards. And in each shard, her reflection was different.
One Alice looked much older, hair white as frost. Another was cross and scowling. A third was laughing so violently her shoulders shook. Some reflections looked away, some refused to meet her gaze at all.
Alice pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, this is most irregular! Which of you is me?”
The reflections did not answer, but one of them—a solemn-faced Alice with eyes like wet glass—stepped forward. She did not step out of her shard so much as the shard slipped away to let her through, like a curtain parting.
“You’ve taken your turn long enough,” said the Reflection. Her voice was cool, not echoing but hollow, as if spoken inside a bottle. “Now it is ours.”
Before Alice could protest, the mirror burst into a thousand pieces that did not fall, but flew, whirling about her like a storm of knives. She tried to run, but the room had gone, the hearth, the carpet, the walls—all vanished. Only the shards remained, spinning faster and faster until they became a blinding whirlpool of silver light.
Alice gave one last shout—“Oh, I do not approve of this!”—before she was swept off her feet and carried into the storm.
The very last thing she saw was her own reflection, hovering calmly in the air, waving her farewell as if to say, Goodbye, Alice. We’ll take it from here.
To be continued.
Alice in Steampunk Dalekland
Chapter One: The Clockwork Rabbit
Alice was minding her own business, which is the most dangerous occupation for a girl of her size and curiosity, because one’s own business has a wicked habit of becoming everyone else’s. She had laid out her tools upon the garden path—one honest screwdriver (which insisted it was quite respectable), a pair of tweezers (which took offense at everything), and a clockwork bird with its beak stuck slightly open as if it had been caught forever in the act of saying “Oh!” The roses wobbled about on their stems in a breeze that smelled faintly of coal and toast, and the daisies gave great, polite sneezes.
“Bless you,” said Alice, for she was a well-brought-up child, even when addressing flowers.
“Steam,” sniffed a daisy, quite dignified. “We are allergic to steam.”
“There is no steam,” said Alice, peering about. “Only sunshine and Sunday. If there were steam, I should see it, and if I saw it, I should surely say it.”
At which a discreet hiss sounded from under the azalea bush, and something somewhere went tick-tock, whirr-clank, hiss-puff!—the exact sort of reply that contradicts a person very rudely without saying a word. The roses coughed. The daisies sneezed again. Alice, being one who could not resist a noise that sounded like an argument between a kettle and a typewriter, put down the screwdriver and knelt in the flowerbed.
“I say,” she called into the dark. “Are you a mouse, a mole, or a machine?”
“None and all,” said a voice like a penny-farthing talking in its sleep. “Stand clear of the exhaust.”
Alice had just time to wonder if an exhaust was something you could trip over when the soil trembled and the bush erupted. Out burst a white blur with brass rivets, whiskers wired like telegraph lines, and a waistcoat stitched with gears that clicked themselves in a most improper fashion. It was the White Rabbit—only more so, as if someone had wound him up to a higher setting.
“You’re late!” he squeaked, and a valve near his collar let off an indignant toot. “Horribly, dreadfully, scandalously late!”
“For what?” said Alice, who did not at all like being told about her lateness, especially by a creature whose ears appeared to be tuned to the Foreign Stations.
“For the Invasion Tea, of course!” He tapped his breast, where a pocket watch had given up being merely a pocket watch and bolted itself to his ribs with a handsome row of screws. “The minutes are marching without permission! The seconds have staged a revolt! The hour has barricaded itself behind a samovar! Oh, oh!” He patted himself down as if he might find a spare minute in his pockets. “No time! Even less than that! Negative time!”
Do you want to find out what is negative time? Simply click on thje link, below, and enjoy.
https://thecrazymadwriter.com/alice-in-wonderland-stories/alice-in-steampunk-dalekland/
There was a Dalek in Wonderland
In a quaint little village nestled in the heart of England, there lived a young girl named Alice. One sunny afternoon, while exploring the fields behind her home, she stumbled upon a peculiar, shimmering portal. Intrigued, Alice stepped through, finding herself in a world unlike any she had ever seen.
The sky was a swirl of vibrant, impossible colors, and the trees had leaves of pure gold. As she wandered, Alice encountered the most extraordinary creatures. A White Rabbit, dressed in a tiny waistcoat, scurried past, muttering about being late.
It was then that she saw it – a shiny, bronze creature with a single eye, gliding across the path. It was a Dalek, but not like any Dalek she had ever seen in her storybooks. This one wore a tiny, top hat and held a teacup, a bewildered expression on its metallic face. “Exterminate! Exterminate tea time!” it declared, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date!”
Alice, never one to be easily frightened, giggled. “Are you lost, Mr. Dalek?” she asked.
The Dalek swiveled its head, its eye focusing on Alice. “Lost? I am not lost! I am merely… disoriented! This ‘Wonderland’ is most illogical!”
Together, Alice and the Dalek embarked on an adventure through Wonderland. They met a Mad Hatter who offered them invisible tea, a Cheshire Cat who spoke in riddles, and a Queen of Hearts who demanded everyone play croquet with flamingos. The Dalek, surprisingly, found itself enjoying the absurdity of it all, even attempting to “exterminate” a particularly stubborn flamingo.
As the sun began to set, casting long, purple shadows across the landscape, Alice knew it was time to return home. She bid farewell to her new friends, promising to visit again soon. The Dalek, for its part, declared that it would “analyze and compute” the wonders of Wonderland, perhaps even incorporating “tea time” into its future plans. And so, Alice returned to her quiet English village, her heart full of memories of a most extraordinary adventure in a very peculiar Wonderland.
If you enjoyed that, click on the link, below, for more madcap Dalek adventures in Wonderland.
Alice on Top of the World – a novel
Alice on Top of the World – a novel
Alice on Top of the World
Alice climbed a ladder of air,
Past rooftops, chimneys, clouds so rare,
She balanced on a silver breeze,
And skipped across the tallest trees.
The mountains bowed, the oceans curled,
For Alice stood on top of the world;
A crown of starlight in her hair,
The moon itself just hanging there.
She asked the sun to play a tune,
She taught the night to hum at noon,
She juggled planets, tossed them wide,
Then hopped upon a comet’s ride.
The White Rabbit clapped from below,
“Careful, Alice, mind where you go!”
But Alice only laughed and twirled,
For she was dancing with the world.
And when at last she looked down deep,
The earth was quiet, fast asleep;
She whispered softly, calm and mild:
“Goodnight, dear world — from your wild child.”
Alice and the Topsy-Turvy Tea Party
Alice was quite tired of the ordinary. She had spent the entire morning in the garden, trying to tell the difference between a dandelion and a daisy, and frankly, the flowers were not being cooperative. She sighed, leaning against an ancient, gnarled oak tree, and closed her eyes. It was then she heard a most peculiar sound: the gentle clinking of porcelain teacups.
Her eyes snapped open. The sound wasn’t coming from the ground, or the hedge maze, but from a small, ornate teapot dangling from a branch just above her head. It swung gently, its painted flowers winking in the dappled sunlight. As she stared, a wisp of steam curled from its spout, spelling out a single word: “Tea?”
“How curious,” Alice said to herself. She reached up and, with a slight tug, the entire teapot detached itself from the branch and settled softly into her hand. As she held it, the teapot began to grow, and grow, until it was taller than she was, with a small, circular door where the base had been. A tiny sign on the door read, “Do Not Enter, Unless You’re Quite Lost.”
Lost was exactly what Alice felt like, so she pushed open the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of Earl Grey and crumpets. She found herself in a room where everything was upside down. Teacups floated on the ceiling, dripping tea onto the floor. Saucers spun like tops on the table, and a small, round cake was singing a cheerful, off-key tune.
Seated at the table, perched on a sugar cube, was a dormouse wearing a thimble for a hat. “You’re late,” it squeaked without looking up.
“Late for what?” Alice asked, her head tilted to the side to see the teacups better.
“The Topsy-Turvy Tea Party, of course!” the Dormouse replied. “We only have them on Tuesdays, and today is Thursday, so we’re celebrating Tuesday. It’s quite logical if you don’t think about it.”
Suddenly, a flurry of feathers landed on the table, and a robin with a top hat on its head began to lecture a floating teacup. “The proper way to pour tea,” it chirped, “is with an inverted teapot! It saves on spillage, you see, which is quite important when you’re upside down.”
The singing cake, which was now doing a jig on the table, chimed in, “And the proper way to eat a crumpet is from the inside out!”
Alice giggled. “That sounds rather messy.”
“Messy is a matter of perspective,” the robin said, tipping its hat. “A spill is just an unplanned design.”
Alice decided to join the fun. She carefully picked up a teacup that was dancing on the floor, poured a bit of tea from a floating pot, and sipped it. It tasted of starlight and jam. She didn’t stay too long, however, as the thought of eating a crumpet inside-out was still a bit too strange for her. She bid the Dormouse and the robin a fond farewell, stepping back out of the teapot and into the quiet garden.
The teapot was once again a small, ornate thing dangling from the oak tree. The flowers were still just flowers, and the world was back to its normal, uncooperative self. But as Alice walked home, she couldn’t help but smile. She knew now that even on the most ordinary of days, a bit of topsy-turvy adventure might be just around the corner.
Alice and Fle went fishing one day…
“Fle and the Fishing Fiasco”
On a mossy green bank where the daffodils grow,
Sat Alice and Fle with their toes all aglow.
Their lines dipped down in a wiggly stream,
In pursuit of a trout or a daydreamy dream.
Old Fle had a beard that was longer than sense,
He used it to dry off the fish from the fence.
(Yes, there was a fence, in the river somehow—
A trout swam through and said, “Do mind the cow.”)
“Now patience,” said Fle, “is the fisher’s true friend—”
Then his hook snatched his hat and flung it round the bend.
Alice just giggled and pointed with glee,
As a soggy old boot clung fast to poor Fle.
“Have you caught anything?” Alice asked with delight.
“Just a cold,” muttered Fle, “and a ticklish bite.”
He reeled in a sock, then a spoon, then a snail,
Then a rather surprised and still-reading quail.
“Perhaps,” said young Alice, “we should try further down?”
But Fle shook his head and adjusted his frown.
“I once caught a mermaid right here in this brook—
Though she tricked me and swapped all my coins for a book.”
Then something enormous gave both lines a tug!
A fish? A frog? A submerged garden rug?
The rods flew high in a loop-de-loop arc—
And landed them both in the mud with a SPARK!
Covered in slime and some algae and twigs,
Alice declared, “That’s enough chasing pigs!”
But Fle just grinned, with a glint in his eye,
“Fishing,” he said, “isn’t really to try.”
“It’s for thinking, and sitting, and listening to bees,
And falling in rivers and scraping your knees.
And if you’re quite lucky, you might catch a trout—
But mostly you’re lucky just getting back out!”
Alice in Ballykillduff
You don’t have to be mad to visit here, but it helps
You don’t have to be mad to visit here, but it helps
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Alice in Ballykillduff
Alice fell through a hole in a very odd hedge,
Tumbled past turnips, a cow, and a ledge,
She landed with grace (well, almost—a thud)
In Ballykillduff, face-first in the mud.
She stood and she blinked at the curious crowd—
A goat played the trumpet unusually loud.
A pig sold balloons shaped like clouds and like cheese,
And someone was painting a portrait of peas.
“Where am I?” asked Alice. A sheep in a hat
Replied, “In the village of Ballykillduff! That’s that!”
“We’re preparing,” it said, “for the Sheep Racing Fair,
Where ewes take to flight through the midsummer air!”
She wandered through stalls where the jelly was wobbly,
The fudge slightly rude, and the sandwiches snobbly.
A tractor called Muriel whistled and said,
“Hop on for a tour! Don’t step on my tread.”
She met Grandmother McSnoop who could juggle live frogs,
And a choir of hens that sang sea shanty songs.
Two monks brewed a soda that made her see stars,
And a badger confessed he’d once stolen some jars.
At noon came the races—explosions of wool!
Jetpacks on sheep made the sky rather full.
They looped and they zoomed in a blizzard of fluff,
As Alice cried out, “This is quite mad enough!”
But just as she thought things could not get more strange,
The moon sprouted legs and danced down the lane.
The mayor declared, “That’s our satellite samba!”
And offered her tea served in hats made of llama.
At sunset, the hills all began to recite
Limericks backwards while glowing with light.
The cows held a disco, the ducks held a vote,
And a hedgehog proposed—in a velvet-lined coat.
“Dear Ballykillduff,” Alice whispered with glee,
“You’re wonderfully odd and quite perfect for me.”
Then the beetroot returned and it opened a crack—
“Time to go home, if you want to go back…”
She waved her goodbyes to the sheep and the crowd,
To the tractor, the frogs, and the goose dressed in shroud.
And she whispered as Ballykillduff slipped from view,
“That was stranger than Wonderland—and the scones were quite new.”
Alice Logs In
Alice Logs In
One sunny day in Wonderland,
While sipping tea and chewing sand,
Young Alice yawned and had a thought:
“Why are we all so pre-internet caught?”
She pulled an iPhone from her sock,
(It ticked and tocked like a talking clock),
She poked the screen and gave a grin—
“Let’s see what world I’ve wandered in!”
The Caterpillar popped online:
“Who R U? U up? U fine?”
The Cheshire Cat just posted memes,
And vanished mid-conspiracy themes.
The Hatter live-streamed tea debates,
With Bonkers takes on interest rates.
The Queen of Hearts launched NFTs:
“Buy now! Each comes with severed knees!”
Alice sighed. “This can’t be right—
We’ve meme’d away the day and night.
No riddles, rhymes, no flights of fancy—
Just trolls and ads and apps called ‘Dancy.’”
She tried to post: “I miss the trees.”
But all she got were angry bees—
Replies that buzzed: “You’re cringe! You’re fake!”
“Return to hole! Go eat a cake!”
She shut the phone and dropped it fast,
Deciding screen life couldn’t last.
She skipped away through mushroom mist,
Her Twitter never once was missed.
So if you find your world askew,
Try Wonderland, not Webpage 2.
You won’t need likes or streams or fame—
Just talking cats who know your name.
Alice and the Baby Hippo (A whimsical poem in rhyme)
Alice and the Baby Hippo
(A whimsical poem in rhyme)
One dainty day beneath the sun,
Young Alice thought, “This could be fun!”
She saw a hippo, small and round,
Just waddling gently on the ground.
Its skin was grey, its tail went flip,
It wriggled with a wobbly skip.
Its ears were tiny, pink and proud—
It snorted once and drew a crowd.
“A mount!” cried Alice. “Oh, how grand!
I’ll ride across this soggy land!
No horse or donkey, goat or yak—
I’ve found a hippo for my back!”
She climbed atop its chubby rear,
The hippo blinked, then twitched an ear.
It gave a squeal, then took a dash—
And Alice flew off with a splash!
She landed in a muddy bog,
Just shy of hitting a startled frog.
Her hair was filled with weeds and goo—
Her sock was gone, her shoe was too.
The hippo, shocked by all the fuss,
Just blinked and snorted, “Don’t blame us!
We’re not for riding, no, not yet—
We’re more like mobile lumps of wet.”
Alice laughed, then bowed with grace,
Mud dripping gently down her face.
“Well thank you, friend,” she said, and grinned,
“As far as rides go—you were…wind!”
And off she skipped with squelchy feet,
Through meadows green and puddles sweet.
Behind, the hippo gave a sigh,
Then belly-flopped with glee nearby.
So if you spy a hippo small,
Be sure you ask, before you fall.
For though they’re cute and seem just right—
They’re not the steed for your next flight!
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 