Alice in Wonderland

Elle inhaled. The pipe weed glowed in its bowl. She took the wooden mouthpiece out of her mouth, rested the pipe on the arm of the sofa. She exhaled. Thoughts of her Grand Novel (both unnamed and unfinished) swirled and slithered in her head. A CD someone had slipped under her door was playing on her stereo. And I won’t call you baby, anymore-ore-ore, Eleanor. She thought Cedric might have sent it. Then again, it could have been Nathan. Or James.

The Novel of all her novels was meant to be a study of the nature of stories. It was to be a great literary piece. She was not going to settle for less. It would be studied by literary scholars and enjoyed by the layman. It would be original, and at the same time inspire readers to read more great authors of the past—Byron, Austen, Chaucer, Carroll, Tolkien. Elle had already written fifteen chapters. None of them was good enough.

When the novel was done, she would finally own the place she lived in. She would have a studio apartment. All hers. She would be able to eat pizza and caviar when she wanted to. Her stomach growled. She looked into her cupboards again and pulled out a bag of chips. Oh well, she thought, the Grand Novel would have to wait. She pulled out her notepad and began to scratch on it with a ball-point pen.

Alice Derland, aged sixteen, was a beautiful girl. She had blonde hair and big eyes. She had a cute button nose and pouty pink lips. But her sister often claimed that in that hourglass, petite body of Alice, there was no mind. “Mindless!” Alice’s sister often said to Alice.

Alice, however, was far from mindless. Alice had imagination. Sometimes Alice would say to her sister (after she had left the room, of course, and was out of hearing distance), “I have Imagination!”

But Alice never told anyone the things she imagined. When she was younger, for instance, there was that whole thing with the White Rabbit. Come to think of it, the White Rabbit looked like Eric, her twitchy, nervous cousin.

Everyone told her that Eric was dead and that he was never coming home. Alice knew better. Eric had been abducted by aliens. Alice knew this because she had seen it. The aliens had come came in a ship that looked like a mushroom cap. It had even been was the same size as a mushroom cap.

Eric and Alice both thought it was a mushroom at first. Then Eric had picked it up. Something bit his finger and Eric gasped. Then, the two of them were shrunk down to the size of an ant. A creature with ten legs tentacles stepped out of the ship. Alice and Eric stood awestruck and speechless.

Elle stopped scratching now. She wondered how the creature with the tentacles would dispose of Eric. She scratched a note at the side, cause of death: ingestion of poisonous mushroom. That’s what everyone would say Eric had died from. There was the problem of Alice, however, to solve. Why had Alice survived?

Elle realized she was thirsty. She pulled herself off the sofa. She shivered when her feet touched the floor. She pulled her robe closer around herself. Her mind flitted briefly to Noah. He had been one of the good ones. He reminded her to wear socks. And to eat. He would buy groceries weekly and pinch her hips as if to say, too thin.

But he left, just like the others and now all Elle had left in her fridge was juice and vodka. She washed a glass and put it on the kitchen counter. She poured juice into it. She took a sip. Then she rummaged around in one of the cupboards. She pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. She poured some into her glass, hesitated, poured some more. She took a large mouthful.

Then she sat on one of the stools and pulled her pen out from behind her ear. She tapped it a few times on the notebook. She twirled it between her fingers. She took another mouthful of her juice and whiskey, and then she continued writing.

The creature (that Alice had now nicknamed Decapod) beckoned them to follow it. Alice and Eric glanced at each other. Alice was curious. She waved at Eric to follow her and then she stepped onto the ship. There was another decapod on board. The two decapods spoke to each other in a series of numbers. Alice had not paid enough attention in math to know what they were saying.

Eric was now shivering and saying, “We’re late. We’re late for dinner. Please let us go.” The decapods ignored him. Finally the one that they had followed into the ship nodded. It turned its handsome human head towards Eric and then grabbed him. It dragged Eric to a transparent table and strapped Eric onto it. Alice watched.

[insert sex here]

Then the other decapods pushed a button on the control panel in front of it. Alice looked down and realized that she was standing on something disc-shaped, which was now lighting up and emitting sparks. She shrieked and then fell. And fell. And fell. And fell.

And fell. Then she hit the ground. She shook her head and then she picked herself up. That hadn’t hurt at all, she thought. It was a good thing she was wearing a plain tee and jeans. Her mother would not have been happy if she had muddied another one of her good white shirts. She dusted her front. She shrieked again. She realized that she was naked.

Elle snickered. She never published her stories using her real name. She used the nom de plume Julliette Speare. The name Julliette had nine letters in it, just like her real name, Aeleanore. Her parents had both been fans of Tolkien and had named her when they were still too young to know better. Then they’d disappeared and left her alone to endure the teasing of her cousins.

Elle wrote some notes in the margins. Edit tenses. Think up alien sex scene. She puffed slowly on her pipe. She put another chip into her mouth. She sucked on it before she started chewing. She was making them last. When she finished this pulp of a story, she would have more money to buy food. She would visit her aunt this weekend. There was always food in that house. She flipped to a new page, shook her pen a few times, continued writing.

Well, Alice thought, she would just have to endure. She dusted her perk bottom then she climbed up the edges of the hole she had fallen into and emerged in a forest. But it was a tamed forest. Near the river bank, a lion licked a rabbit clean. Flamingoes stood preening while crocodiles swam around them. Alice rubbed her eyes. Then shrugged and walked down the brick pathway. Who knew what other wonders she would see? And after all, she had always been a curious girl.

She had scarcely taken ten steps when she saw it. It was almost motionless under a tree. Its only movements were the rise and fall of its chest. It was sleeping, Alice realized. She also realized that it was a fine specimen of its kind. She moved closer to get a better look. She had never seen a naked man before.

Close up, she realized that the man was really a boy. He looked about two years older than her. The boy was curled up on the ground with his back to the tree. Alice had always loved watching boys sleep because when they slept, the mischief and cruelty in their eyes were covered by their eyelids. They looked almost innocent. Alice touched his eyelids.

They opened. Alice gasped and her legs gave way. She sat down. The boy sat up. He reached out and touched her hair, wound a lock of it around his finger. Alice licked her lips. Somehow, being naked (even with him around) felt natural. “I’ve been waiting,” the boy said.

“For me?”Alice asked. The boy nodded. Then he shook his head.

“Not for you,” he said, “but for someone like me, human, made out of the same flesh and bones.”

Alice huffed and crossed her arms. She stood up and turned away but the boy gripped her shoulder. “I’m glad it was you who came though,” he said. Alice looked into his eyes. She hesitated, then she put his arms around his neck.

[insert sex here]

Elle crossed out the last three paragraphs. She wrote in the margin. Less dialogue. More sex. That was what the readers of this genre wanted. More sex. More violence. More ooze and blood and other bodily fluids. Elle needed the money.

She could have been a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or anything else she wanted. She had been unofficially voted “most likely to conquer the world” in high school. She had bumped into one of her teachers at the supermarket last week and the usual sort of conversation had transpired. So what are you doing now? I’m a writer. Oh…

It was always the same sort of “oh”. The awkward replacement of “wow, that’s wonderful”. Elle asked herself again why she kept writing and she answered herself. It was write or die. Write or die. Elle flipped the page. She continued writing.

Pressure

What are you thinking about, he asks her. Where do you go when you disappear into your head?

They are in bed, wearing nothing but the sheets. She turns away from the ceiling, looks into his eyes and says, right now I’m sleeping with the twin brother of the man that I’m having an affair with.

He huffs. She’s being cruel, again. Her mouth wears a sneer but he can see the fear in her eyes. So you have a thing for my brother, he says. He doesn’t understand what she sees in him. After all, they look the same.

He’s upset her now. She lies flat on the bed and her hands grip the sheets. She won’t cry, though. She never does, not in front of him anyway. But he has seen the cuts on her wrists. She never reaches the veins. But he is afraid that one day, she might.

Are you gonna get rid of me now, she asks. He hates it when she says “gonna”. It reminds him how old he is, compared to her. He says, can you love more than one person at a time. She says yes. But she doesn’t say if she can. Then stay, he says.

He is afraid to let her go. Her sharp tongue and quick mind made her seem older than her age. But her eyes gave her away. They were a child’s eyes in an adult’s body. He pulls her to him. She sighs.

If not for you, she begins. He hushes her, pulls her even closer, wishes he could shield her from the world. He knows what she wants to say. It’s the reason he never leaves her alone for long. She might find other ways to die.

He doesn’t say what he wants to say. He wants to say that someday, he might walk away. He would always love her but it was too much pressure. Keeping someone alive.

Bird’s Eye View

The little bird hopped across the balcony railing. It chirped, once, twice. Then it flapped its wings and jumped. The wind picked it up and the bird glided across the garden and onto the fence. Within the fence, was a Balinese style garden, complete with water fountain and stone pathway. It was anything but peaceful.

The bird cocked its head. There were people shouting. The man shouted at the woman. The woman screamed back. There was water coming out of her eyes. “You don’t understand,” she said.

“What is there to understand? Aiya, can you don’t be so emotional? ” said the man. Then he huffed, “Women!”

“I wish you would listen to me,” the woman said.

“I am standing here, listening. What more do you want from me?” the man said. The bird had heard the whole conversation. The woman had wanted to go on a holiday with her friends. It was for three days. It would be her first holiday without him since they had gotten married almost twenty years ago. It was a work retreat.

“I shouldn’t have allowed you to start working again,” the man said. Then waved away whatever the woman had been about to say. End of discussion, the man was saying. The bird had watched humans for most of its life, from a safe distance of course. It understood some of their gestures.

The bird hopped from the fence to the wooden gate. It flapped its wings and then jumped. It glided a distance then flapped some more. It flew above the rooftops and landed on a tree. It pecked off some of the dust on its feathers. Its tiny ears picked up a sigh.

The bird tilted its eye towards the sound. A girl was leaning on the tree. A boy stood in front of her. His arms were curled around her waist. They were both giggling and kissing alternately. The bird wondered if the couple that was fighting earlier had started out like the couple under the tree.

Rested now, the bird took off again. Below, a silver car screeched to a stop. The pink ribbon tied onto the top of the car made the bird stop. It landed on a wire and watched. A woman in a white dress stepped out of the car. The dress was like foam on the top of a river. The bird hopped on the wire then flew across to a windowsill.

It stared in. It was a big room and there was an aisle going down the middle. At the end of the aisle, stood a man in black. When the woman in white walked in, the man looked up and stared like a cat caught in front of a car’s headlights. When the man took the woman’s hand, he smiled.

Somewhere across the road, a woman shouted at a man, “You are not my father, okay. You have no right to tell me what to do. You think that just because you’re a man, you can control me?”

The man’s face was scrunched up and his eyes had water in them. “I just don’t think we can afford this right now,” the man said.

“It’s my money,” the woman said. The man looked around and realized that people were staring. He shrugged and then he followed her into the store. The bird caught a glint of a ring on the man’s fourth finger.

When the bird was still a hatchling, its nest used to be on a tree outside a window. The bird used to listen to stories the mother would tell her children. A lot of the stories began with the words “once upon a time” and usually ended with “and they lived happily ever after”. The mother called those stories fairy-tales. The bird saw why now. Fairies did not exist.

“I love you,” said a voice and the bird was awakened from its reminiscing. A boy was standing below it and he had a small rectangular object in his hand. “You hang up first,” the boy said, paused then said, “No, you. Okay fine, I’ll hang up. I love you.”

The bird wondered what love was and why it was such a bad thing. It was like the rice that the taitais put out for the pigeons. The pigeons ate it up, couldn’t get enough of it. Some of them ended up in cages. Some of them were killed by the smoke monsters. One roll of the monsters circular legs was enough to kill two pigeons. The bird huffed. Pigeons were silly creatures.

The bird sometimes went back to the house its nest was. There was a new family there now. The man and woman living there described their relationship as complicated to anyone who asked. The bird wondered what could be complicated about it. They were nest-mates. They lived together, would have babies together and would take care of those babies together.

Before they had babies, they would ready the nest. They would collect food together. And if one of them couldn’t do it, the other would. It wasn’t complicated. It was simple. It was simple for the bird anyway. If the bird could shrug, it would have.

The Accident

His name was supposed to be Michael. And he was supposed to be Italian. But here he is. And here I am. How did this happen?

I had a dream once. About a boy. I didn’t know his name. But I knew him. It was a strange dream and nothing made sense. But he did. He. Did. He made sense.

He was Italian and he was part of the mafia. We were under the rule of a dictator—a queen. And the only ones immune from her power were the ones in the mob. He was prince of the mob. So he rescued me. We ran away together and we lived happily ever after.

At least, as far as I know. I woke up before I could find out.

My heart is pounding. And there are butterflies in my tummy. I never imagined it would feel like this. I was supposed to know him. I was supposed to know that he was the one. The only one. Forever. Prince Charming. Dark Knight.

I don’t. But here he is. And here I am. How did this happen?

I’ve fallen in love twice. Once with a boy, who was like a lion. Golden. Proud. Once with a man, who was like a wolf. Scarred. Beautiful. Both times felt different. Different from each other. Different from now. Did I truly love them all?

I stopped loving them. Will I stop loving him? And yet, here he is. And here I am. How did this happen?

I’ve cheated three times. Twice on lion boy, with wolf man, whom I met in a secondhand bookstore, in the corner where they kept the first editions. Once on wolf man, much later on, when I bumped into lion boy at the library.

I lost myself four times. I tried to hold on to life. Even if it was by the tips of my fingers. But I slipped. Pills once. An almost hanging. Drove off a cliff. Asked someone to kill me. And then lion boy said, enough, and left.

So I said enough as well. And determined not to fall in love. Then I met the man who wasn’t Michael. I dreamt about Michael five times. He looked different in each dream. But he was the same person. And I only found out his name in the last dream.

But this man here, who isn’t Michael, I’ve fallen in love with him. I didn’t intend to. Who knows if it will work out? But here he is. And here I am.

None of them were Michael. But for the first time, it doesn’t matter.

Smile Like You Mean It

I have been hungry for years. Everything tastes like dog food–hard and tasteless. The meat my father cooks is lifeless. Whatever creature–cow or sheep or chicken–that was slaughtered had no emotions, no intellect. Lifeless.

I have been hungry for years. But no more. There is no one left now. My father has been buried beside my mother. There is no one left to cook the lifeless, spiritless meals I have been eating. Tonight, I will have a real meal.

I have all the spices and the sauces. But I don’t really need them. I don’t know how to cook. People always find this surprising because both my parents were superb cooks. My mother was a patissiere–a pastry and dessert chef. My father was the sous chef at ________ in Europe. They both loved food.

And then they had me. The sulky child, the brooding teen. I ate when they told me to. “Don’t you like the food?” they would say. I would only nod.

“Smile then,” they’d say. And the side of my lip would twitch. I had tried. I tried very hard to make them happy by reading more, achieving more. They were happy and they smiled at me but I–I had nothing to smile about.

Tonight I have something to smile about. I see the person I have been looking for. He has eyes the color of squid ink. He sees me and waves. He is taking me to dinner. I lick my lips.

I first met him at the bookstore that I work at. He was signing copies of the cookbook that he had written–Cooking Takes Heart. I had read all the recipes in that book. They had made me feel. I knew that he was no ordinary man.

I have convinced him to keep our relationship a secret. Maybe after tonight I might tell someone. Maybe not.

He is smiling at me now as I spoon soup into my mouth. I lift an eyebrow. He is smiling at me now as I take a bite of the medium rare steak. The side of my lips begin to twitch. He is smiling at me now as I swallow the moist chocolate cake. “Mmmm,” I say.

We are at his home now. It is dark and silent. He lifts me into his arms and kisses me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me into the living room. He closes the door with his foot.

We are in his bedroom now. He drops me onto his bed. Then he disappears into the bathroom. I pull something out from the inner pocket of my coat. When he comes out, I stab him with it. The needle slides straight into his vein. I did not study medicine all those years for nothing. He falls onto the floor.

I walk slowly into the kitchen now. His heart is in my hands. It is still beating. I put it on a plate. I spear the left side of it with a fork. I slice it with a knife. The pulsing piece of flesh is warm in my mouth. I chew.

Maybe they’ll catch me tomorrow, I think, as I put another piece of meat into my mouth. Maybe not. If they don’t, I’ll find another man. Someone less emotional. Someone rational. His brain might be tasty. I smile.

Back to the Elements

Scene 1

EXT. TOP OF THE HILL BY THE SEA- NIGHT

There is a slight breeze in the air. JULIETTE stands at the top of the hill with a container on the ground beside her. There are pieces of paper in her hands. There is a fire in the container. She drops the papers slowly into the container and…

JULIETTE
(whispers)
Fire…

Juliette takes a packet of something out of her pocket. She pours the contents into the container.

JULIETTE (CONT’D)
(whispers)
Earth…

Scene 2

EXT. TOP OF THE HILL BY THE SEA- NIGHT

The wind is stronger now. The fire has burnt down. There are only ashes left in the container. JULIETTE picks up the container and closes her eyes, then tosses the contents into the air.

JULIETTE
(whispers)
Wind…

The ashes touch the water.

JULIETTE (CONT’D)
(whispers)
Water…

Juliette puts a lid on the container and tucks it under her arm.

JULIETTE (CONT’D)
(sighs)
Go back to the elements.

Holy Communion

Wine in my left hand. Cracker in my right. This is my body, I hear her voice saying in my head. I take a bite of the cracker. My teeth sink through the cheese on top of it. It is tight and tangy just like her. I take a sip of wine.

I am bored. Ole Gary is standing beside me bragging about his latest conquest. That girl at the burlesque club who dances like she’s made out of water. I know exactly who he’s talking about.

But I’ve given up that life now. I’ve found something better. I’ve found holy communion. No clubs or dancing girls. No flavoured condoms or mentholated lubricant. Just me and her. Her and me.

I ignore ole Gary and take another sip of wine, so I won’t have to speak. I should have taken the white. The red looks too much like blood. Like the blood of our newborn stillborn as she held him in her arms.

Then she had looked at me over his tiny, quiet, blood-drenched head. And even in the bustle of doctors and nurses, we were the only ones in the room. Just me and her. Her and me.

Ole Gary has spotted new prey and moves across the room. I know he will keep looking back every four steps to see if I’m watching. I’m not.

My eyes are moving across the room and they find what they are looking for. She is talking to a suave Italian gentlemen and a lipstick lesbian, who both look like they want to take her home. She sips her champagne then looks over her glass at me.

And then, even in the midst of the crowd she is the only one there. I am the only one there. Just me and her. Her and me.