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Lakewood Times

Lakewood Times

“Not So Wonderful Wonderland”

I hated art. It was always the most confusing thing. It never looked like real people, and when it did, it was never celebrated as much. I hated confusion, so I stuck with what I know. The academic books, Math and English. They were easy. I knew what I was doing.

I had read the famed “Alice In Wonderland” before. I just didn’t get why people liked it so much. In reality, it would be horrifying to experience those things. Falling for hours would really, really mess up your insides, and if you’ve reached terminal velocity as a 140-pound 14-year-old, a pile of hay and twigs no deeper than your waist was not going to break your fall. And if you somehow stumble upon food or drink that will physically change your stature dramatically, it would have to be able to shrink every type of cell in your body. If not, your bones or organs might stay the same size and absolutely abolish you. A queen that cuts off any person’s head, who just might breathe air from 20 feet away? She would be impeached or rebelled against immediately. A half-invisible or magic cat that can smile? Cats can’t even smile. They don’t have the right muscles or face shape for it. I really do just find all of it ridiculous.

I spend my time reading and writing about biology, and chemistry, but mostly anatomy and things with the human body. Although I’d like to begin learning more about animals inside as well. Not in the creepy gory way like most stories, no, like a normal, curious human. I love learning how things actually work, like how we live off of what we do, and how cool reactions happen within our bodies.

Sitting outside is where I do my best work, so I built a small greenhouse-type thing outside, so I could read, write, draw, or do anything in peace. I could even hang outside in the rain thanks to that good ol’ thing.

I did love music. I love playing it, singing it, and hearing it. It was intellectual while allowing you to let go a bit. There are so many layers and pieces that go into it. It can be so beautiful. The melodies can ride the winds and you can hear the passion behind the words and tones. With the unique metaphors and rhyming, I wish I could be that way. I’m an honest person, and I can honestly say that I have no creative talent. I have to stick to the facts, or else I’m stuck. My whole life my parents have tried to get me to be creative, but I really can’t make anything new or different. In my violin or piano lessons, I only play songs that were already written. I can’t come up with anything new. I’ve really tried. But alas, my studies make me happy, and that’s really all that matters.


I have to tell you a story. A horrible, true, unfathomable story. It really happened, it really did, and not one soul believes me. 


I went outside in the late afternoon, to paint. I wanted to paint detailed side anatomy of an adult human, and I seen it. 


A rabbit.


A pretty, white rabbit, in the distance. It looked like he was holding something, or had some sort of mud all over him. I stepped into the cloudy outside, and began to slowly walk toward him, straight towards his front. Their eyes are on the sides of their head, so it’ll be more difficult for them to see you. But back to the story. 

As I got closer, the mud in his fur made it very matter, and I still couldn’t make out what he was holding. The wind began to howl and a drizzle started, but I was too curious. What on earth was he holding? 

I kneeled on the ground to get closer, and he hopped up to me, which surprised me. Usually he’d run. But he came up to me, and started to sniff my hand, and placed what he was holding into it. 

A stopwatch.

“Where did you get this buddy? I don’t think you’re supposed to have this! I’ll take it and put it somewhere safe for you, okay?”

“You’re late,” he said. What? Did he just, speak? I was horrified and confused.

“W-what did you say?” 

“You’re late,” he said again, in an angrier tone.

“Late to what? Who are you, what are you? Is this some sort of sick prank?”

“No,” he said. “You’re late.”

I was about to respond with more questions, but I blinked and he was gone. I turned around violently and stood up. Where did he go? I went back into my greenhouse to shield myself from the starting rain, but as soon as I closed the door and turned towards my canvas, he was there. 

He left no footprints, somehow, but he looked dripping wet in the reddish mud. 

“You’re late,” he said. “This is your last warning.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“Late for what? I’m really confused.”

“The tea party,” he sternly stated. Like I was supposed to know. I was about to respond, but when I looked at him, his jaw had unhinged and many pairs of dirty, sharp teeth were barely a foot from my face. I screamed and tried to run to the door, but he was there. 

“You can’t go yet. You need to get ready,” he told me, his dripping teeth inching closer to my face. I shoved him aside and kicked open my door. I began to run in the hardening rain, without taking a second to look behind me. He was following me, I could feel it. I don’t think that was mud on his face. I think it was blood.

I kept running, and I ran into the woods near my house. He was a small thing, and I thought the roots might give him some trouble catching up. Yet my idea was short-lived, as I fell and got my leg caught in something. 

I didn’t see him, and I tried desperately to free my ankle from the shackle of roots around it.

I was panting so hard, and yanking as hard as I could on my ankle. I eventually slipped through and scrambled up. I started sprinting again, but I had no idea where I was going. Everywhere around me looked the same, and it felt like I was spinning in circles. The leaves flew around me like tops and dreidels, making a mess of colors as I turned. I finally landed in the direction I believed to be towards home and tried to start running again. 

I ran only a few feet, and there he was. That stupid, horrifying rabbit. 

“What do you want?!” I screamed. 

“You’re too late,” he said. “Late to the tea party.”

“What tea party?!” I asked, so confused. I had no idea what he meant. I hated tea. I hated tea parties, I hated most of the fun things people did. So why me? Why not ask someone who likes tea, at least? “I never got an invitation though,” I retorted, calmly.

“Yes, you did.” 



The ground opened beneath me and I began to fall. I never fell that fast. But somehow, as I continued to fall, I got slower, and slower, giving me time to breathe and look at my surroundings. It was dark. Very dark. I wanted to cry. Why was all of this happening? I only wanted to paint. Not do this ridiculous stunt. I was going to kill that stupid rabbit. 

I reached around my pockets to find some source of light to see how deep this hole was. I found a tiny box of like, 4 matches and tried to light one. It broke. “Dang it.” I tried another one, but I scraped the head of the match off. I inhaled sharply. I tried the third one, and it lit up for a second before dying out. A tear rolled down my face. The last match. I struck it once. Nothing. Again. Nothing. The third time, it lit up! I gasped and led with a relieved laugh. I held the match around, desperately trying to find something larger I could light, but only saw plaques of animal heads and teacups, teapots, and random furniture and animal heads. 

I screamed. There was a human head, lying on a plaque, with long blonde hair, and a horrified expression on her poor face. I looked closer, and the title said “Alice, who was too stupid to see the truth. She never grew up.” 

I wanted to throw up. Alice was real? Was I going to be the nest Alice? I was mortified. I can already see it. “Lorelai, the girl who never believed. She grew up too early.”

I began to cry. Was I going to fall forever? I contemplated all my life decisions when the match went out, and the light below rose. I landed very softly on tiled grounds, in a grand hallway. 

I read the story. I knew this place. I remembered. All I had to do was go through as quickly as possible, and not get distracted. Although, it looked far different than the way it was described in the story. 

The hall was very large, yes, but it was old and dirty. I walked through, looking at the dusty edges and broken columns. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I stepped in something. 

“Eww, what is this?”

It was black goo, a puddle stretched looking all over the tile. Like someone had painted a thick bucket of slime all over the floor. It wasn’t too sticky, so I kicked it off and tried to continue, but I couldn’t. Something was holding me back. I looked down and a gooey porcelain hand was reaching out of the puddle, holding my ankle. 

“Aaaagh! What is that!” I knew no one could hear me but I couldn’t help it. I was so horrified by everything around me, and I kept getting pulled down. I didn’t know what to do. So I yanked and pulled, and I smacked at the hand until it let go. I scrambled to my feet, backing away, keeping both eyes on the puddle. I began to turn around before I heard a gurgling sound, like a baby throwing up, like something thick boiling. My eyes set back on the puddle, and an inky black figure with a broken face, its poor sad eye, and its dusty white porcelain arms reached for me. Other white pieces were poking out of its eyes and face, its back crowning with what looked like old baby doll fingers. I had no words. Not a sound left my mouth. I stood absolutely still and watched it. It gurgled and turned to me, and hiccuped another puddle of that black at me. I dodged it, and once it hit the floor it burned through. My eyes widened wider than any wide thing you’ve ever seen. I turned on my heel and ran. I didn’t look back. 

Tears gushed bubbly from my eyes, and I just kept running. I knew this place. It was exactly the same as her story. I seen the room at the end of the hallway, the table, and everything. I skidded to a stop, looking behind me. There were more of them. Luckily they were slow. 

On the table, there was a key and the typical “Eat Me” cake. I knew how skeptical I was about it earlier, but I had no other choice.

I got on my knees and unlocked the door, peering in. I see a bright beautiful garden and blink to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I was so happy to see that there was a real sun, and flowers, I didn’t notice the black goop in the pots. 

I held the piece of cake, hesitating, but looking back and seeing those things still waddling towards me. Hiccuping monsters. I ate the entire cake, with no thoughts. Nothing happened. 

Then I felt it

I watched as it started in my hands first, my flesh shrinking and peeling away, but I became even more horrified when I see my bones staying the same size. I screamed, but it was too late. I was stuck. Stuck in my own cage of bones.

I felt myself shrink and rip around them, My life being drained from me. I fell to the floor in agony, and let go. I couldn’t do anything. My nerves and muscles were too small and my skeleton too heavy. I turned over, and my final sights were those things catching up to me, staring. I couldn’t hear anymore. My vision was leaving too. The last light my eyes caught were shots of black goo charging at my remaining body.


I write my story from a plaque, suspended in this cave. I’m covered in that goo, which is good because I can never see my horrible stretched face, my drooping skin, and my stained skull. No person who comes down here believes me. They pick up and read my book, and laugh. They never think of looking at my face to see the truth. 


My brain wrote its final thoughts and died, In a horrible nightmare called Wonderland.

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    ScarlettOct 13, 2022 at 8:11 am

    If there are any questions about the story, you can comment here and I will answer them to my best ability!