Queen of hearts

Where is the life that I recognize? Where have my senses disappeared off to? Who was that person?

Into a hole that I have carved by myself, I crawl and lay. I dig into the dirt, as the rabbits have. Their home has become my solace. I cannot even see my face, I cannot see anything. Darkness is all I have in here. I followed the rabbits, that was how I got here. They always seemed to sense when I was in a frenzy. They appeared when you could not, when thoughts of you surfaced, when I was alone. They led me here. This hole is too dark, I burrow further in. My fingernails black with dirt and blood, my eyes pinpoint in this darkness and my body shriveled in desperation. I keep pushing, that is all I have. This strange drive that propels me through the daily.

There, I have found it. Water is all that is needed to push this through my body. I fall as Alice had. And I am entrapped. Where she found her way out, I have not, or more accurately, want not. Why would anyone choose to be sane in this perfectly insane solace? Why would the rabbit lead me anywhere but here, here in my mind, where I have always run away from? I cannot bear the thought of such silliness, of such stupidity, of such blatant ignorance. You and me, we are not all too different here, you see. You want your escape and I want mine. But mine, oh how sweet, sweetness is such sorrow, is such tragedy.

You can only guide me, with your silly chesire cats and mad hatters and white queens. Why leave me these hints, these clues? So transparent in their nature that a child could pick it up. But you sly fellow, you know that I am a stubborn child. You that I will stand still and throw a tantrum. You know that I will not budge. You know that I will refuse. You know this, you know me, all too well. And yet you persist, with the journey, with the lessons, with the ending.

What if that is not what I seek? What if I choose to stop and stand? To be mulish, headstrong and obdurate in my misery. Why persist, when I choose to wallow in this self-induced bleakness? In this self-induced lunacy. And so, here the story deviates. Alice does not wear her pretty blue-white dress and saunter into the yellow sunlight of hope. Oh no no, you ignorant fool, she downs her little helpers and dresses in black. She closes her eyes and opens them in her mind. She stops worrying and starts forgetting. She wills the life away and she sits at the table having tea with these oddballs. For can you not see, she does not need the steady pace of the world above. She only craves the continuous loop of insanity pulsing through her veins.

Life, the celebrant has to be refunded it seems. So does the groom, the guests, the family and all the other faceless people clad in grey. Missing, mysteriously so, they all wonder. But with time, they too will forget. They will only mention me in passing, when it arises. With hushed voices and furtive glances, I will be remembered. Within the winds of speculation, the thoughts of pity, the curious bewilderment. But this loop is shortlived.

I wake up and I am on the bed that life has once again set out for me. I seek these magic pills, these thought enhancers, feeling suppressors, soul ignitors. Why, they ask. That’s enough, they say. But they do not know. They have not seen. They have not felt. They have not heard. In short, they have not lived at all.