Category: short stories

Alice … (Repost)

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

I read this the other morning and thought it was delightful, insightful, and repostable! Enjoy Georgiann and her writings at https://gigisrantsandraves.wordpress.com/.

Alice …

“Why didn’t you stay in Wonderland?” he asked, hands in pockets, as he walked along next to her.  “I think I would have stayed.”

“If you found Wonderland, it would have been a completely different experience,” said Alice.  “It would have been a Wonderland tailored just for you.  It’s that way with everything, especially in out-of-the-way-places.”

“You mean places no one is supposed to know about?”

“I think certain people are supposed to know about those places, either by design or, accident.  It’s their destiny.”

“Tell me again.  What was it like?”

“It seems tighter,” she said, pressing her arms against her sides, Closer.  The sky felt lower.  It’s definitely  lusher.  Sizes don’t always make sense.  Plants and animals can speak.  The colors are deeper and alive.  There is danger and beauty.  There are people who might be considered a bit off, by our standers.  It’s more colorful, but the Queen…well, she’s a bit of a…”

“Problem,” he asked?

“She was unhappy.  Once I realized that, we chatted over tea, and she felt a lot better.  It’s not that she didn’t want to be Queen, it’s that her husband was boring, and not at all supportive or helpful.  She was hoping for the love of her life and instead, she ended up with Mr. Bland.  She was angry because she never felt loved or appreciated.  He never surprised her, or romanced her.  He was no fun at all, so her anger turned into rage and ended up being directed at the people themselves.”

“I can understand her dilemma, but she shouldn’t have taken it on on the masses.”

“I don’t think she realized that’s what was happening.  I told her to get a divorce and marry some hot young guy who liked to dance and party.”

“What did she say?”

“She hugged me and called her lawyer.  I think Wonderland itself let out a huge sigh of relief.  She felt trapped, was waiting for permission to move forward and get rid of the person who was breaking her heart.  She wasn’t sure a Queen could do that.  She baked a lot of tarts, believe me.  She said it took her mind off of him and she always burned a few pretending they were him.”

“Harsh.”

“You never met  him.  I don’t think he would have realized he was on fire.”

“That says a lot.”

“Indeed.  Now double it.”

“What about the Mad Hatter?”

“He was lovely and I don’t think he was mad as much as passionate.  He loved creating hats.  His passion was so large, it couldn’t be contained, and that’s why some believed him to be mad, when he was just unbelievably happy and excited.”

“Did you tell that to him?”

“I did and we danced for an hour, while he threw flowers and ribbons into the air.”

“That must have been interesting.”

“It was fun.  We laughed…a lot.  He also made me another hat.”

“The blue one with the pink and white feathers?”

She nodded.

“It’s my favorite.”

“Mine too.”

“Tell me about the White Rabbit.”

“One pill makes you taller and one pill makes you small….  He was kind of in charge of the drug situation in Wonderland.  He’s the one who put the bottles in the foyer.  The bottles I drank.  I got big, then small.  But I don’t really know what he gave me.  He’s quite a gentleman, dresses well, uses a monocle, which I don’t think he needs, it’s more for effect.  He’s polite, knows how to pour tea and he keeps in touch with everyone.”

“The Dormouse?”

“Adorable.  Sleepy, but so cute.  I doubt he would like to be described in that way, but it’s a true telling.  I think he has magic but he’s too tired to participate in anything.  I don’t know if the Rabbit is his dealer, but if he is, he needs to cut back on whatever he’s giving him.  It’s possible he just eats to much cake.  There is a LOT of cake at the Tea Parties.  I’m not sure which it is. 

As for the Tweedles.  Scary twins.  At least when I first saw them  They looked like rubber balls with heads, stripped t-shirts and matching beanies.  Not the brightest crayons in the box, that’s for sure.  But once I got to know them, I liked them.  They didn’t have many friends, so were a bit out of touch.  I never met their parents, if they had any.  I used to tell them stories, now and then.  They liked that.  I don’t think anyone spent enough time with them while they were growing up.”

“Cat?”

“He was the best.  Imagine a cat who could disappear and leave his smile for everyone to see.  So funny.  Although he didn’t think it was funny.  At least not at first.  We became very good friends.  I’m a cat  person and he could tell.  He did love to tease people and push them as far as he could.”

“It seems as everyone was starving for attention.”

“They were,” said Alice.  “It’s different there.  While they are always willing to help each other, and they do have remarkably strong  friendships, as children, they all seem to have been neglected.  Aren’t you going to ask about the caterpillar?”

“Next on the list.”

“It is absolutely the strangest thing to hear a caterpillar start talking to you,” she said, smiling.  “I thought someone was playing a trick on me and hiding somewhere, throwing his voice.  But no, the caterpillar had quite a lot to say, he’s also usually as high as a kite.  I don’t think he liked me at all, at least not in the beginning.  Wonderland is orderly and my appearance threw everything out of wack.  He did have some good advice, while looking down his many legs at me.  I think we were okay with each other by the time I left.”

“Tell me about the Kraken.”

“Poor thing,” she said, looking down.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.”

Alice sighed and said, “He wasn’t anyone to be afraid of.  All the fear directed at him made him so unhappy.  He just wanted to be treated kindly, to live is own life, his own way.  He had the same dreams as everyone else, but no one asked him how he felt, or what he needed.  People are cruel. I guess it doesn’t matter where they are.”

“Again, why didn’t you stay there?”

Alice shrugged.  “In the end, I just didn’t belong.  I’m not sure I belong here either, but I know this place.  Wonderland felt like living in a dream where everyone dressed up and everything was alive.  It was exciting at first but most everything can lose it’s rosy glow, after awhile.”

“That’s true.”

“It wasn’t easy to leave.  I made good friends in Wonderland.  Friends who wanted me to stay.”

“I’m sure they knew they would miss you.”

“I think I can find Wonderland again,” she said, her eyes glistening, her smile bright.  “I’m  planning to go back for a visit.”

“Can you take me along?” he asked, excitedly.

“I don’t know,” she answered, honestly.  “But I can try and find out.”

Repeat on a Saturday Morning

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

rI’m supposed to be vacuuming the house at the moment; the kitchen the next battle ground. But you know what happens when creativity pokes you in the back like a stick. I started organizing my laptop, which led to making sure I had copies of all my blogs, which led me to the one I did a few weeks ago about being published, which led me to thinking that maybe not all were able to follow the link, which led me to….well, you can figure out the rest.

For those who might have wanted to read my short story but never got a chance to follow the yellow brick road, here it is. I hope you like it.

We Speak as One

 

I don’t know how many of us are here now. Our weight steadily increased until one day the machines lay silent.  The parameters of our existence really do not bother us much anymore. Weight and length and color are nothing more than shadowed measurements of something once thought important.

We are tired, some of us more than others.  Our collective consciousness is slowly seeping out of this world, thoughts of ever-after more a smile than a possibility.  I think there are six of us here on this flatbed. We mouth colors of Regal Black and Arctic White and Matador Red, but no sound comes out.  Perhaps that is what we were once called.  It doesn’t really matter now.  Our identities no longer lay within the tints of our shell. The cold September wind is whipping around us, rhythmically snapping some long forgotten trim against someone’s bumper.  We lay together, six tall, waiting for our last road trip, trying to remember what we once were.

As we try to sort our individualities from of this pile of crushed and bent steel, wisps of once-upon-a-time mingle and become one long thought:  “I carried the homecoming queen in the high school parade was the fastest car in Jefferson County remember children fighting in my backseat on their way to grandma’s my engine never really ran the way it was supposed to.”  Our minds are slow now, almost non-existent.  I don’t recall if it was me that celebrated the millennium at a park in New Jersey or the Nova two stacks above me.  One of our back seats is full of motor oil; someone else’s is full of blood.  It’s these sorts of sleepy memories the six of us share now as our bodies are crushed to one-eighth of our former glory.  The white Toyota on top tries to boast of big V8’s and posi-traction, but the collective knows Toyotas never had those kinds of engines.  Red Bel Air doesn’t remember what year he came off the assembly line, but is almost positive the first song played on his radio was “Love Me Tender.”  The rest of us don’t know if that is true — most barely remember yesterday.

We try to recall a time when the roads were ours.  When our owners rushed home to wash us, took us on drives through the countryside, sat in front of houses while lovers said goodbye.  Someone says there was a time when pride of ownership was the foundation of his existence; the car on the top hasn’t been around long enough to know what that means.  One of us has been abused since we were bought off the lot; someone else swears they were pampered until they were driven off the road in a thunderstorm.

Black Skylark doesn’t send many vibrations through us anymore.  He lies at the bottom of this crushed steel heap, his days of glory long gone.  He remembers little, as his body was mangled beyond recognition by a high-speed drunk driver one Saturday night.  But it is just as well, he moans.  Our purpose was never to last beyond our usefulness. AMC Concord right beneath me is ever the optimist. Thinks his owner will come and reclaim him from the shadows of the abyss before it is too late. If I had much emotion left I would tell him it’s already too late. There will be no reclamation for us. Nothing but transition.

The platform on which we lay is cold and hard. There are no wrinkles, no folds, no contours of steel as with us.  We hear we are leaving soon — the one, last, great adventure.  Words in the distance barely reach us.  Scrap yard.  Recycling plant. Shredder.  Those words are alien to us.  Stick shift. Transmission. Spoilers.  Now these are words we understand.  Words that ring true about what we once were.  Who we are still.

Tired now, our collective efforts to share one last glimpse into our pasts are failing.  Style and accessories mean little when you are crushed flat against another.  Perhaps we were once fresh and new, but all that is left is this pathetic tower of crumpled steel and broken dreams

We…Speak…As…One

We…Speak…No……More……