A Collection Of Stories In Our Language

Alice was conducting a visual audit along the perimeter of her incredible realm. Somewhere beyond the kingdom and halfway to Reds’ grandmother’s cottage she was checking trees for signs of fungus and disease. The threat of China’s lead is scary even for the fantastic, as the courtyard’s shrubs have been caked in paint from time to time.

That’s where she found someone else. Not uncommon, for the banished or poorly-self-medicated to fall to any number of outfielders who paced the forest. All are released in death and go into the paper ground, an eternal cycle cover to cover.

Something was different, though. This was unfinished, uneasily identified by costume or condition. Her hologram buzzed in and out and sometimes the lines would seem almost clean, then ambiguous. This officially had Alice’s attention once her eyes found the object in the dirt beside the sleeper.

Hand to gold chain to pendant. Something like an Avon pin, something like a charm. It seemed to be glowing, even upside down. Curious, Alice bent lower and flipped the thing over.

“Impossible.”

“What’s up?” came a familiar voice at the top of the hours. He had funny hair and was never far away. He might not always understand, exactly, what the connected worlds mean, but is always there because he has sinking feelings and doesn’t trust rabbit holes.

Alice pointed to the queer jewel.

“No waaay. We had that story read to us, though. Didn’t we?”

“Could it be a virus?” Alice wondered.

Loose binding keeps her walking about

Every since he tore the pages out

They looked up to see the fat, purple feline on a branch.

Judge Kingsley asked for her crown back

And threw a story off its track

With eyes like mine, but not as pretty

Followed a not-so-little kitty

Alice’s true love dragged their undead by the legs, towards the palace. As they walked together, she suddenly felt rather thirsty for tea.

My dear, before you wore the fable

That one built and set your table

Nothing good is from thin air

Did you not ask who’d left it there?
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One response to “A Collection Of Stories In Our Language

  1. Who are you? Said the catepillar, while smoking his hookah. Alice stood and gathered her close. Her body, shielding from the gaze of the worm.

    “She is, and that is all that you need to know, for now.”

    Is, was..or to come. That is if you know where you are going The catepillar smiled and snuggled deeper

    Once, I saw a shattering light…in it’s reflection, I saw the two of you

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