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Dalek in Wonderland

11 Nov
Dalek in Wonderland

Alice had always considered “topsy-turvy” a quaint, almost charming state of affairs. Until, that is, the very air began to hum with an unfamiliar, metallic thrum that made the giant mushroom caps quiver like startled jellyfish. One moment, she was admiring a particularly vibrant cluster of sapphire roses; the next, a bronze behemoth with a singular, unblinking eye had materialized amongst the petals.

“EX-TER-MIN-ATE!” boomed a voice that sounded like a thousand angry kettles boiling simultaneously.

Alice, who had faced jabberwockies, irate queens, and logic-defying tea parties without so much as a proper shriek, found herself doing a rather ungraceful hop-skip-jump backwards. “Oh dear!” she gasped, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of terror and utter bewilderment. “Are you quite alright, sir? You sound rather cross, and honestly, shouting ‘exterminate’ at the scenery is dreadfully rude to the fungi.”

The Dalek, for that is what it was, swiveled its dome-shaped head, its ocular stalk focusing intently on Alice. “OBSERVATION: ORGANIC LIFE FORM IS SPEAKING ILLOGICALLY. THREAT ASSESSMENT: HIGH. INITIATING ELIMINATION PROTOCOL.”

“Elimination protocol?” Alice clutched her apron. “But I’ve only just arrived! And I haven’t even had a chance to ask if you’d like a spot of tea. Though, I must confess, your rather peculiar shape doesn’t look particularly suited for holding a teacup. Perhaps a saucer? Or a very large thimble?”

The Dalek emitted a series of rapid, clicking noises that sounded suspiciously like frustrated whirring. “TEA IS IRRELEVANT! SURRENDER FOR EX-TER-MIN-ATION!”

“Surrender?” Alice scoffed. “And miss out on discovering what’s beyond those particularly tall, stripey mushrooms? Not on your life, you peculiar brass kettle on wheels!” With a burst of courage fueled by sheer absurdity, she turned and darted through the towering roses and lilies, her blue dress a fleeting blur against the soft pink and blue hues of the fantastical garden.

The Dalek, surprisingly nimble for its bulk, began to pursue, its menacing shouts echoing through the quiet glade. “YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE THE INSOLENT ORGANIC!”

Alice, giggling despite herself, glanced back. “Honestly, if you’re going to chase me, at least try to keep up a sensible conversation! Do you know the way to the Mad Hatter’s tea party? I suspect he’d find your insistence on ‘extermination’ rather droll, provided you didn’t actually exterminate the biscuits.”

And so, under the enormous, dappled caps of the enchanted mushrooms, with the spiraling vortex of the sky watching overhead, Alice led the indignant Dalek on a merry, illogical chase, proving once and for all that in Wonderland, even the most terrifying threats could become just another part of the mad, wonderful scenery.

 
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Posted by on November 11, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice on top of the world, dalek, daleks

 

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“Alice and the Swirling Canvas.”

09 Nov
“Alice and the Swirling Canvas.”
“Alice and the Swirling Canvas.”
*********************************
Chapter 1: The Yellow Crescent
The museum air was thick with the scent of old wood and quiet reverence. Alice, now seventeen and perpetually bored by the linear world of geometry and etiquette, paused before a small, heavily-framed oil painting. It was a night scene: a landscape of gnarled, dark trees reaching toward a sky that was less a void and more a seething mass of light. Every star was a thick, buttery dollop of paint, and the enormous crescent moon, a luminous, impossible yellow, seemed to push out from the canvas.
She knew the style instantly. It wasn’t just painted; it was felt.
Alice leaned closer, her nose almost touching the varnish. She noticed something odd about the moon. While the rest of the canvas held firm, this single yellow crescent seemed to vibrate, its impasto texture shifting, almost like wet paint refusing to settle. It was an instability in an otherwise frozen moment.
Drawn by an irresistible impulse that defied every museum rule she’d ever learned, Alice reached out a finger.
The moment she touched the paint, it gave way.
There was no sudden drop or dizzying vortex. Instead, the sensation was like plunging her hand into a bowl of thick, warm honey. The paint swallowed her fingers, then her hand, then her entire arm up to the shoulder. A gentle, viscous pressure pushed her forward, and in a blink, the quiet, dry museum fell away.
Alice stumbled onto a path that crackled under her feet.
The air was no longer still; it hummed with the energy of creation. The ground beneath her was a road of visible brushstrokes—thick, woven lines of ochre and burnt sienna—leading between two impossibly dark, gnarled trees. They were not trees of wood, but of coiled, energetic black and blue paint, their branches spiraling upward to meet a sky that was terrifyingly alive.
Above her, the Realm of the Saturated was dominated by the very yellow crescent she had touched. It blazed like a furious sun in the indigo turbulence, casting expressive, blue-black shadows that seemed to claw at the ground.
A feeling of intense, urgent motion seized her. She looked at her hands. Her skin was perfectly normal, but her dress and apron were rendered in the same high-relief style as the landscape, every seam and fold defined by a bold, blue outline.
“Stay still and you dry,” a thin, reedy voice whispered from the brushy undergrowth. “Drying is fading. Fading is being finished. And finished is the worst word of all.”
Alice spun around just as a figure leaped onto the path in front of her. It was the White Rabbit, but he was a portrait of anxiety. His white fur was ragged, rendered in hasty, unfinished lines of grey and zinc white. One ear looked fully realized, while the other was a mere suggestion of a stroke. He clutched his pocket watch, which had been reduced to a frantic, broken circle of orange dashes.
“Oh, it’s you,” he sighed, his voice full of disappointment. “Another element of disorder. But at least you’re wet. Tell me, child, do I look complete to you?” He thrust his unfinished ear toward her. “Am I resolved? Or am I still just a preparatory sketch for a better idea?”

A sudden, jarring shift in color drew Alice’s attention away from the White Rabbit’s existential crisis.

A short distance away, through a thicket of gnarled, swirling branches, the landscape erupted. It was a riot of color that fought against itself: streaks of raw vermillion clashing with aggressive viridian greens, all under a canopy of electric violet. It was loud, visually overwhelming, and undeniably wet.

The White Rabbit, clutching his hastily drawn watch, shuddered, his unfinished lines seeming to vibrate with distaste. “Don’t go that way, child! That’s the Saturation Zone! The Hatter has completely abandoned all sense of proportion or harmony. He’s destroying the value! It’s all so terribly… loud.”

But Alice, already overwhelmed by the thick texture and anxious energy of her arrival, found herself drawn to the visual noise. At least there, the danger wasn’t fading into the canvas; it was being intensely, brilliantly there.

“I think,” Alice decided, stepping over a thick, coiled stroke of blue that served as a root, “I need to speak to someone who understands color. Perhaps they understand how this world is painted.”

She plunged through the dark, expressive undergrowth.

 

🎨 The Mad Hatter’s Color Party

 

Alice emerged into a clearing where the air didn’t just smell of paint; it smelled of turpentine and fermented tea.

The famous long table was there, but it wasn’t set for tea; it was set for a lesson in chromatic chaos. Instead of fine china, there were pots and buckets overflowing with thick, undiluted pigments. The table itself was not wood, but a slab of brilliant, sticky Cadmium Yellow.

The Mad Hatter, his face painted with feverish, opposing stripes of cyan and magenta, was shouting at a trembling Dormouse who was struggling to balance a tiny teacup. The cup was filled with a liquid that glowed with the unnatural intensity of a pure Phthalo Blue.

“No, no, you infuriating rodent!” the Hatter shrieked, splashing a handful of Alizarin Crimson onto the table, creating a violent, wet mess. “You are sipping Primary Blue next to a background of Primary Yellow! You need a mediator! You need an Orange, or perhaps a delicate Tertiary Violet! Do you have any idea the visual friction you are causing?”

The Dormouse whimpered, his face a perfect, frightened circle of dull beige. “B-but this is the only color that won’t dry, sir!”

The Hatter ignored him and spotted Alice. He slammed his hand down on the yellow table, sending splatters of red and blue pigment flying.

“Ah! A new subject! And look at that lovely, pedestrian blue-and-white contrast!” He circled her, his eyes manic. “You, girl, are a walking exercise in simplicity! Tell me, what is the complement of that dreadful little apron?”

“White?” Alice ventured.

The Hatter threw back his head and laughed, a shrill, manic sound. “White is the absence of color, you dullard! The complement is pure black! You want contrast! You want the tension! The friction that keeps the canvas alive! Sit down, sit down! We are about to perform a great experiment in Value and Hue!”

He gestured wildly to an empty chair next to the March Hare. The Hare, unlike his usual frantic self, was sitting perfectly still, coated in a thick, dull layer of umber brown, patiently waiting to dry out.

“Don’t worry about him,” the Hatter muttered, pouring a cup of neon Naples Yellow tea and thrusting it at Alice. “He decided the sheer complexity of color theory was too much, and now he’s waiting to become a restful, non-committal background element. Now, drink! And tell me if you feel the visual heat of that yellow against your blue dress!”

*******************
To be continued.
*******************
 
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Posted by on November 9, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice on top of the world, Lewis Carroll

 

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Alice Deep in the Jungle

05 Nov
Alice Deep in the Jungle

The humid air of the jungle clung to Alice like a secret, a stark contrast to the familiar, crisp English gardens of her youth. Yet, here she was, not stumbling through a rabbit hole, but walking with purpose on a path of moss-covered stones. The scent of exotic blooms, heavy and sweet, mingled with the earthy aroma of damp soil. Sunlight, fractured into a thousand shimmering beams by the dense canopy, painted shifting patterns on her blue and white mini-dress and the soft leather of her long white boots.

She was no longer the small, curious child who had first tumbled into Wonderland. The years had etched a quiet confidence into her features, a knowing glint in her blue eyes that spoke of countless impossible encounters and challenges overcome. Her long, blonde hair, a silken river, cascaded around her shoulders, catching the golden light.

Above her, iridescent macaws, flashes of sapphire and scarlet, soared between ancient trees draped with lianas, their calls a symphony of the wild. Closer still, oversized hibiscus and bird-of-paradise flowers, rendered in hues too brilliant for any ordinary garden, unfurled their petals in silent welcome. Each leaf, each vine, seemed to pulse with a hidden life, whispering tales of forgotten magic.

Alice paused, a faint, playful smirk touching her lips. The air hummed with serenity, yet she felt the familiar tingle of something extraordinary just beyond her sight. This wasn’t Wonderland, not precisely, but it carried its echoes – the same breathtaking beauty, the same undercurrent of delightful mystery. She wondered which improbable creature she might encounter next, what riddle awaited her in this verdant dreamscape. With a graceful turn, she continued her journey, her boots making soft thuds on the ancient stones, ready for whatever hidden wonders the tropical realm might reveal.

 
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Posted by on November 5, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice on top of the world, Lewis Carroll

 

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Alice and the Clockwork Garden.

03 Nov
Alice and the Clockwork Garden.
Alice and the Clockwork Garden.
**********************************
The city where Alice lived was a place of endless hums and flickers. Towers of glass stretched into the clouds, their reflections looping infinitely in the mirrored streets below. People moved like clock hands, precise, predictable, and always on time. But Alice was different. She collected broken things: cracked lenses, tangled wires, forgotten keys. She said they whispered to her when no one else was listening.
One evening, while exploring the outskirts of the city, she stumbled upon an abandoned greenhouse. Its glass panes were fogged with dust, and vines had crept through the cracks like green veins reclaiming a body. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of rust and wilted petals. In the far corner, half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy, she found a small brass door no taller than her knee. It ticked faintly, as though it had a heartbeat.
When she turned the handle, the world folded, not down, but sideways. The air rippled like water, and she fell through layers of sound and color until she landed softly on a bed of moss that smelled faintly of machine oil.
She stood up and found herself in a garden made entirely of gears and glass. Flowers opened and closed with the precision of pocket watches, their petals clicking in rhythm. The sky above was a swirling clock face, its hands spinning in opposite directions. Bees made of copper buzzed between the flowers, leaving trails of golden dust that shimmered like static.
A signpost nearby spun wildly, its arrows pointing to places that made no sense: “Yesterday,” “The Hour Between,” “Nowhere in Particular,” and “The Place You Forgot.” Alice hesitated, then chose the last one.
The path wound through hedges that whispered secrets in mechanical tones. Every few steps, the ground shifted beneath her feet, rearranging itself like a puzzle. She passed a pond that reflected not her face but a dozen versions of herself, older, younger, smiling, crying, all blinking at different speeds.
A cat made of smoke and mirrors appeared on a branch above her. Its grin flickered like a glitch in a screen.
“Lost again, are you?” it purred.
“I’m not sure I was ever found,” Alice replied.
“Good answer,” said the cat, and its body dissolved into a cloud of static, leaving only the grin behind. The grin blinked once, then vanished too.
Further along, she came upon a tea party set in the middle of a clockwork clearing. The table was long and crooked, covered in teapots that poured themselves and cups that whispered secrets to one another. The host was a clockmaker with a hat full of ticking hands and a monocle that spun like a compass.
“Time’s broken again,” he sighed. “Keeps running backward when no one’s looking.”
Alice peered into one of the teacups and saw her reflection aging and un-aging in rapid succession.
“Maybe time isn’t broken,” she said. “Maybe it’s just tired.”
The clockmaker blinked. “Then perhaps it needs a nap.” He handed her a small silver key. “Take this to the Heart of the Garden. It winds everything that dreams.”
The path to the Heart was not straight. It twisted through forests of glass trees that sang when the wind passed through them. She met a girl made entirely of paper who folded herself into a bird and flew away. She crossed a bridge that whispered her thoughts aloud, embarrassing her with every step. At one point, she found herself walking upside down, the sky beneath her feet and the ground above her head.
When she finally reached the Heart of the Garden, she found a massive clock-tree, its trunk pulsing like a living creature. Its branches were heavy with pendulums, and its roots glowed faintly beneath the soil. In its center was a keyhole, glowing softly. She turned the silver key, and the world exhaled.
For a moment, everything stopped. The gears froze, the bees hung motionless in the air, and even the sky’s hands paused mid-turn. Then, slowly, the world began again, but differently. The ticking softened. The flowers opened wider. The air felt warmer, almost alive.
But something else stirred. From the shadows beneath the clock-tree, a figure emerged, a tall woman with hair made of unraveling ribbons and eyes like shattered glass.
“You’ve wound the Heart,” she said, her voice echoing like a thousand clocks striking midnight. “Do you know what that means?”
Alice shook her head.
“It means the dream wakes up,” the woman whispered. “And dreams don’t like being awake.”
The ground trembled. The flowers began to wilt, their gears grinding to a halt. The sky cracked open, revealing a vast emptiness beyond. The woman smiled, her face fracturing like a mirror.
“Run, little clock,” she said.
Alice ran. The paths twisted and folded, leading her in circles. The cat reappeared, now flickering between shapes, a bird, a shadow, a reflection.
“Which way is out?” she gasped.
“Out?” the cat laughed. “There’s no out. Only through.”
She stumbled back into the greenhouse, gasping for breath. The brass door was gone, replaced by a single flower made of glass, ticking gently in the moonlight. She touched it, and the ticking stopped. The city outside seemed to pause, as if holding its breath.
When she looked at her reflection in the glass, her eyes glimmered faintly, like tiny clock faces, turning in opposite directions. Somewhere deep inside, she could still hear the faint hum of the garden, waiting for her to wind it again.
 
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Posted by on November 3, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, alice and the baby hippo, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice in wonderland christmas, alice in wonderland christmas story, alice on top of the world

 

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Alice and the Cauldron of Nonsense

02 Nov
Alice and the Cauldron of Nonsense

Alice and the Cauldron of Nonsense Song

 

 

(Verse 1 – Alice) One fine upside-down morning, the sky was askew, A rabbit hole landing, not into, but through. My dress was impeccable (A dreadful, bad sign!), I plopped in a pumpkin patch smelling of brine. “Where am I now?” I asked the soft breeze, It turned to a novel and flew through the trees. Then POP! like sarcasm, a loud, sassy sound, A new brand of chaos just dropped on the ground.

(Chorus) Oh, Blunderblot is calling, a whirlwind of glee, Where logic’s on holiday, wild and set free. With Wobbleberry Pudding and wands made of peel, The Cauldron of Nonsense is stirring what’s real! It’s not Wonderland, no, it’s gone off its rocker, It’s just Harry Rotter, the reality-shocker!

(Verse 2 – Harry Rotter) A scruffy girl rode a broom, made of hose and of tape, “Sensible’s here!” she grinned, escaping the scrape. “I’m Harry Rotter, Witch-in-training, you see, Mischief Certified, now—got exploding blueberries?” “I’ve a scone,” I replied, “It’s quite prone to talk.” “Perfect!” she cried, “For our magical walk!” Then a toadstool stood up, with a groan and a belch, “The Turnip Wands Incident! You shouldn’t be here, welch!”

(Chorus) Oh, Blunderblot is calling, a whirlwind of glee, Where logic’s on holiday, wild and set free. With Wobbleberry Pudding and wands made of peel, The Cauldron of Nonsense is stirring what’s real! It’s not Wonderland, no, it’s gone off its rocker, It’s just Harry Rotter, the reality-shocker!

(Bridge) The sky turned to paisley, the ground started to shake, An angry old badger on a tea tray did wake. “You turned Queen’s scones into gremlins!” he spat from his eye, “But gremlins make croutons!” was Harry’s reply. Then a jellyfish floated, of homework and dread, “You mixed rhubarb and Potion 3½!” it overhead said. “The Cauldron is broken!” Harry gasped, filled with fear, “Quick, the Spell of Almost-Rectification is near!”

(Chant/Middle 8 – Spoken Rhythmically) They linked pinkies, tapped knees, and chanted with vim: “Zibble-zabble, stew and bubble, Patch the holes and double the trouble! Bring back balance, just a smidge— Except on Tuesdays. Or near the fridge.” There was a WHUMP, a WHEEEE, and a BLARG! And everything stopped just outside the dark.

(Verse 3 – Alice & Harry) The grass was just grass, and the badger took a seat, A cup of hot tea was a perfectly neat, quick treat. “That was… something,” I said, with a thoughtful, slow sip, Harry winked, upside-down, and gave a small skip. “Next stop: The Ministry of Mayhem,” she decreed, “A borrowed dragon I need to return, yes indeed!” “Allergic to Tuesdays?” I asked with a smile, I was sold on this chaos, just for a while.

(Outro) So off they went skipping, one right and one wrong, The Blunderblot rhapsody plays on and on! With a talking scone muttering verses of Shay, And a dragon-shaped problem for another mad day. (Fade out with the scone’s voice) “…to be or not to be, that is the question…”

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2025 in Alice, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice in wonderland christmas, alice on top of the world, lewis carroll, song

 

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Alice’s Rhyming Return to Wonderland

26 Sep

Alice’s Rhyming Return to Wonderland

 

 

alice in mirrorland, a new alice in wonderland story

A NEW Alice adventure coming here SOON.

 
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Posted by on September 26, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice on top of the world

 

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Alice in Mirrorland

24 Sep
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.

 
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Posted by on September 24, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice on top of the world

 

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Alice, Christmas and the Jabber-Wobble

14 Sep

Alice, Christmas and the Jabber-Wobble

A brand-new story coming here soon!

 
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Posted by on September 14, 2025 in A new Alice in Wonderland story, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland christmas, alice on top of the world, children's stories, Christmas, Christmas Stories, Christmas story

 

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Alice on Top of the World – a novel

01 Sep

Alice on Top of the World – a novel

alice of Wonderland fame

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.”

 
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Posted by on September 1, 2025 in Alice, alice and the baby hippo, Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice in wonderland christmas, alice on top of the world

 

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Alice and the Topsy-Turvy Tea Party

28 Aug
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.

 
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Posted by on August 28, 2025 in Alice in Wonderland, alice in wonderland adventure, alice in wonderland christmas, alice in wonderland christmas story, alice on top of the world

 

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