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“Did the illicit baker not leave evidence behind?” I smirk, knowing for a fact I left an obvious trail of crumbs leading to Crazy Joanna’s room. “Curiouser and curiouser.” The Terminator growls, lowering his face to mine.
“When are you going to drop this stupid fantasy? You’re not some special girl destined for another land. You’re a pathetic,” he slams my back against the wall, “delusional,” and again, “psychopath.” I manage to withhold my groans of pain and incline my head.
“Thank you,” I smirk. The electric end of his baton sparks and it’s jammed into my lower abdomen. Releasing a shriek this time, I’m allowed to topple to the floor. Curling in on myself, I struggle to find that confidence I’ve come to rely on. Through it all, knowing I’m not the crazy one here.
I’m Malice, and that bitch is completely sound of mind – despite what everyone else believes. I don’t know why I was chosen for Wonderland as a child, nor why they haven’t seemed to want me back, but I won’t fall into the trap of losing the memories I know are real. My faith has never faltered, although times like this, my loyalty does.
The terminator drops over me, hitching up my dress. His hand shoves my face into the floor, not able to help himself from hastily unbuckling his slacks. That’s the way it goes. Those who deem themselves of power take from the weak. The deranged, who’s word wouldn’t be believed otherwise. Too bad for this horny fuckwit, being easy prey just isn’t me.
In this world, I need to be my own hero.
Dropping the back of my canvas shoe from my heel, I leave my ass in the air in favor of snaking an arm down and grab the knife stashed in the sole. While the attendants were so concerned with the mess in the kitchen and stolen ingredients, no one thought to take stock of the cutlery draw. To their credit, it was a fucking bomb site in there. Flour and jam everywhere.
The Terminator doesn’t see it coming, too preoccupied with whipping out his tiny dick. Swinging my arm wide, the glint of metal jerks him backwards. It’s impossible to know if I made any contact, but it did the job. The pressure on my face is relieved. Twisting, I don’t hesitate to swipe the knife in an upwards curve towards his shocked face. Blood splatters across the length of the dress scrunched at my waist. An unholy scream batters around the cell as the Terminator stumbles backwards, holding the side of his face.
“You bitch! You fucking, crazy bitch!” he roars, regaining a hint of composure through the blood pissing out of his fingers. Slamming his fist against the alarm button on the inner wall, his good eye falls on the baton discarded between us at the same time as I see it. A moment passes, a high-pitched shrill splitting through the hallway beyond the door. Then, we move.
Diving across the floor on my front, the Terminator swoops down, his hand closing around the baton before I can knock it out of his reach. Electric sparks at the tip in slow motion, crackling just before the baton is jammed into my neck. Shaking violently, I roll aside as a boot connects with my face and the lights go out.
Time passes behind my sealed eyelids. My body crying out in pain, yet my mind isn’t ready to return. It’s happier in here. Filled with color and fantasy. Soaked in desire and yearning. Fields of mushrooms, tea parties every day. Flowers to talk to, pathways to stray. Oh Hatter and Hare, Cheshire’s and Pillars of Cat. How I Iong to be where you are, how I wish to come back.
“Pssssst,” a voice hisses through my subconscious. I try to ignore it, but after some solid persistence, I groan and crack an eyelid. A smile hovers in front of my face. Curved, gleaming white in the dimmed room. Circling, it floats out of view and a moment later, a heavy weight settles across my back. The lick of a heavy tail drifts over my exposed thighs, the dress still bunched up too high.
Pushing myself upright, the weight remains as I ease onto all fours and take stock of my body. Aside from the thumping agony awaking in the side of my face, possibly a fractured jaw and concussion, I’m otherwise intact. Shrugging off the furball curled into the dip of my spine, I move to sit and in the next moment, the smile is back. Nestled into my lap, I absent-mindedly stroke the invisible body.
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” I mutter aloud. The smile tips upwards, the two lines of straight teeth not parting, although a female voice rings clear in my head.
“Because they both- “
“Hush,” I bark, placing an index finger over the smile. My brows cross angrily. “Those too logical to seek an answer prove themselves to be just that. Rational, sensible. Too sound of reason. All attributes deemed offensive by those in Wonderland. I must remember who I am, must avoid the dilution of my mind. If I am to return. If…”
My voice becomes too small. My feisty spirit taking a lunch break. At least I’m alone, locked in the concrete cell with no one to witness this. Staring at the wall opposite, my eyes become unfocused, my hand continuing to stroke the unseen cloud in my lap. The wall ripples. I tell myself it’s a trick. I gave up allowing my hopes to rise each time something fantastical happens. There are no telling what drugs they pumped into me whilst unconscious. But sure enough, the wall moves again.
Flickering in mini waves, warping the grey stone as fluidly as water. Scooting closer, keeping my legs crossed, I cock my mane of blonde hair. Before my eyes, a crack appears, splintering downwards. A slither of silver gleams through from the other side, wherever that may be. Spitting out an object, the crack closes as quickly as it appeared. I lift a hand, pressing my palm against cool concrete that freezes in place with no indication it ever moved at all. Except…
Lifting the object from the ground, I peer closer in the dimmed light. A small fabric hat sits in the center of my hand. What was once artfully stitched from lime green felt, is now singed around the edges. Three mini feathers are stuck into a purple ribbon circling the hat, tickling me as I stroke them. One white, one orange, one yellow.
“Something tells me your appearance alongside this hat isn’t a coincidence,” I tell the curved smile still seated in my lap. It twists to face me, all pearly whites with the slightest hint at a large pair of blue eyes.
“You’ve stayed and lost your way, Malice, as have I.” Drawing in a deep breath, I briefly close my eyes. I’m accustomed to voices, to navigating a path between daydreaming and reality. But this would be the first time I’ve received a sign. A physical piece of evidence to the world I once walked.
Still stroking those feathers, the white one sets alight, burning my fingertips before I can move away fast enough. The flickers of flame drift into the air before me, swirling with the faintest trail of orange following behind as letters are formed.
Find me.
As soon as they appear,they disappear without a trace. Dread curdles in my chest. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. No, this isn’t a sign. It’s a message. A cry for help. Blowing away the white feather’s remains; I tuck the hat into the base of my shoe. A shudder runs the length of my spine as the door to isolation is wrenched open and two guards rush in to seize my arms. I’ve played this game many times, I know what to do.
Hanging limply, I allow the guards to drag me back to my room and toss me inside. As per the rehabilitation system, there will be a tribunal with the board of governors to discuss my misdeeds and an ‘open discussion’ about my punishment. The worst part is my family will be present and that in itself is reason enough not to act out more than usual. When it comes to rapey assholes, however, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect myself. No one else is going to do it for me.
“The shadows should be here soon. Are you prepared for the worst? If not, too bad.” The smile ebbs back, disappearing just beneath my bed. I drop down, an idea sparking to mind and reach into the dust-covered darkness. Taking the thickly bound dictionary in hand, I conceal the felt hat into the dust cover. The attendants thought they were hilarious gifting me the only book I didn’t want to read upon arrival, but who’s laughing now.
Making sure the book is tucked into the back corner, I scoot back on the cold tile. Looking to my shoe, the remains of the orange feather is left in the base. Disintegrating before my eyes. Crumbling into tarnished ash. If I hadn’t already come to a similar conclusion, this would have sealed my decision.
I need to keep that felt hat safe until I’m able to return it to its rightful owner.
I need to return to Wonderland.
15
