the Rabbit Hole (not finished)

"He's dead." The shadows whispered to one-another, a hissing rustle that passed through the dark underbrush of the forest like a strong breeze until the entire woods had heard it.1

The Dreamer's great, red bulk lay flacid and putrescent, a portrait in melancholy and decay. Who knows what killed him? He could have, perhaps, choked on some of the yellowish bile that had leaked from his mouth down his neck, or the infectious sores that once were his eyes could have finally spread whatever gangrenous bacterium they carried into his brain, or it could have been the gradual loss of blood from the wounds in his hands and feet; where the Queen's men had fastened him down the only time he'd tried to sleepwalk.2

The Tweedles, whos individual names even they could no longer remember, removed their hats. 3

"I'd seen it coming," they both said at once.4

"But now,"5

"Who will,"6

"Remember us?"7

For, of course, they'd only existed in the mind of the Dreamer. Now that he'd met his rather smelly and prolonged end, how was the world still intact?8

"Not something I really care to worry about,"9

"Not at all, no."10

"We must keep an eye out for changes, brother."11

"Of course, brother."12

"Brother?"13

"Uh, yes?"14

"I'd of course love to push-off with a little bit of a jig right now, maybe a hop or a bounce or a skip to one o' our own tunes, right? But really now, do you still recall how to dance?"15

The Tweedles paused for a moment as one of them, which could have been either of them, realized he could not so much as even perform a jig for the life of him.16

"I can't even much remember how to sing. Bugger all if I can think of a single song."17

"'Tis a shame."18

"'Tis a change."19

"Indeed 'tis, as well, also and too, in addition."20

"Do wish we could start off with a musical number, I do. I mean, that has always been the best way to start a journey."21

"It has?"22

"...You're right I don't recall either."23

And so they packed all of their possessions, which were a pot, a pan, a spoon, several twigs and some clean underwear, and began their journey across the countryside.24

Wonderland had never been a place of consistant physical reality. The state of things was always determined by certain events, and to be wary of these events is to know the nature of the place.25

These are the 'changes' the Tweedles set out to find; the intrinsic things that would tell of things to come in Wonderland for a long time, perhaps until the next Dreamer finally collapsed into the starry realm of death.26

For example, in the dark wood behind the Dreamer's corpse, where the shadows spread the news of his passing, one such important event was taking place. 27

Their battle was older than the woods that surrounded them. It was older than the rock of the bordering mountains, and the earth underneath, and the lost caverns that they'd once galloped through, dodging stalagmites and stalactites instead of massive oaks and thin, white pines. It was older than the sky above them, and the Dreamer, and even Wonderland itself. 28

It was older than time, and the Black Knight was tired of fighting it.29

The White Knight fought for a long list of reasons that the Black Knight had never understood: glory, honor, valor, pride...30

The Black Knight only fought because fighting was the quickest way to kill things. But his battle with the White Knight couldn't end like that. Neither of them ever died. He could take his adversary's head and still have to do battle with him an hour later. What, then, was the point of fighting? The Black Knight fought for the sake of killing and killed for the sake of taking lives. Having an undefeatable opponent was... maddening. As of late, he'd ceased their conflict as best he could; by running. He dashed through the woods, desperately trying to lose the White Knight in the dark wilds. Its not that he was a coward. Far from it. He was just tired.31

His foe was closing distance on him when the wave of whispers washed over them both, the shadows desperate to convey their urgent message. 32

It was a dark day. The trees mourned and spread wide the broad fans of their boughs, blocking out the sun. Behind him, the White Knight reigned his horse. The Black Knight followed suit and turned to face his opponent.33

"So, he is dead at long last," the White Knight said. "Incredible." He dismounted, removed his helmet, and dropped to one knee in silent prayer.34

"Wonderland still lives in the heart of another Dreamer. Perhaps our fued, then, may finally be at an end," said the Black Knight when the White had finished praying.35

"Indeed, worthy adversary. Thou hast been a right and fair opponent, and I do anticipate a most worthy friendship." He approached the Black Knight, hand extended and grinning. 36

It felt right; so right to finally end their age-old conflict as such. In the end, when morality and society finally collapse, good and evil will only be a set of actions, after all; none but two knights riding side by side.37

The Black Knight hefted his mace, his breathing unsteady and his body electric with excitement and anticipation. He relished every infinitely small part of time that made up that moment; the wide-eyed look of surprise in the White Knight's face, his enormous bladed cudgel dropping slowly down onto the crown of his head, the resultant spray of blood and gooey gore that covered him like sweet rain at the end of a long draught.38

He waited a couple moments after the White Knight's headless corpse dropped, attempting to catch his breath, expecting his enemy to, at any moment, reappear on his horse; all aglow with inner light and intent on vengence.39

But of course, he did not. It was another change.40

"FINALLY!" roared the Black Knight, his arms raised in a triumphant 'V'. "FINALLY! FINALLY! FINALLY!"41

His yells echoed throughout the lonely woods; the torn and broken battleground of an ancient war. The darkness grew thicker, more substantial and the trees moaned. The Black Knight was loose. He had won. The shadows spread this news to all who would listen, and many woodland creatures went into hiding, or abandoned the forest entirely.42

Evil had won. Death was victorious.43

"Finally," echoed the Black Knight's voice. "Finally."44

The Tweedles looked back at the dark expanse of the forest.45

"Did you hear something?"46

"I heard nothing, if that can be something."47

"Ah, but it can't."48

"Then no, I didn't."49

They shrugged in unison and continued walking. They had decided that they needed to find the Dreamer, though they had no way of knowing where he was. Wonderland was vast, and it was beginning to get dark.50

"So we aren't recording the changes?"51

"We won't need to if we can find him. But I'm wondering how...."52

"We can walk to him?"53

"Walk to him where, then?"54

"I don't know. We aren't there yet."55

"Well lets hurry and get there."56

They waded through tall, pink grasses which would change to purple, and then black as the sun continued to set. Little spring peepers with voices like bells, all discordant and harmonious at the same time, sang their evening laments for the dying of daylight. The Tweedles would have loved to join them in song, but they'd forgotten the tune to that one as well. Walking without singing or dancing was like trying to run underwater for the Tweedles, but they, one step at a time, began to learn the motions of life without music. It was a change.57

The grass had changed to a midnight blue before they had finished crossing the plain. Night had come to Wonderland, and the shadows of the wood fled free into the darkened world, taking with them the evil of the Black Knight. It was a change as well.58

~~~59

"Whoa, man you looked fucked up." He put emphasis on the word 'up', stressing the fact that he was a bit worried. "Are you alright?"60

"...Yes." Duncan couldn't seem to keep his head up. Blood ran from his sinuses out his nose and mouth, occasionally dripping from either orifice onto his pants. 61

"What the fuck are you on, man?"62

Duncan made an attempt to look at whoever was talking to him, but he couldn't focus long enough to recognize the face. He was pretty sure it was his friend Eddy, or that Mexican kid he met on his way on named Pedro, or Jose' or some other generic south of the border name, but he was too dazed to even place the voice. The world had become only as big as the back of his eyelids and the taste of blood and narcotics souring his mouth.63

"It's umm..." Duncan trailed off, his head rolling on his neck like a basketball on the end of a car antenna. "He told me not to snort it. I think it's mescaline. The red guy sold it to me."64

"What are you even talking about? What red guy? A fuckin indian?"65

"No. Indians aren't red, they're burnt sienna."66

"Burnt sie-?"67

"He was wearing red. All red. Big red coat and a red hat that looked like it was really a red crown and he had red eyes and red hair too."68

"I'm gonna find me some of that shit," said whoever was talking to him, and he left.69

Duncan swayed softly in his chair. Music was playing, of course; a very loud song that he particularly liked. He would have loved to get up and dance, but his body seemed frozen in place. It felt like a limb that'd fallen asleep. It seemed like no time had passed before the unidentified person returned to talk with him again, but really it'd been about twenty minutes.70

"I can't find him, man. You sure he was wearing all red? Nobody here is wearing all red, and the dude at the door was like 'nobody came out this way', ya know?"71

Duncan wanted to answer him. He wanted to tell him that the guy in red wasn't there any more. He wanted to tell him that the guy in red was dead and rotting by a dark forest. He wanted to tell him that the White Knight had blood that turned silver when the sun hit it, and that the tall, soft grasses of the plains changed colors depending on the time of day. He wanted to tell him how beautiful it was, but he couldn't; he was no longer there. The rave, and the guy talking to him, and the loud music, and the laughter of girls and guys on too many amphetamines: that was all behind him now; one fading speck of perception way, way above him. He was falling backwards, down, down, down the rabbit hole. Looking back, he didn't recall ever striking the ground, only falling endlessly until everything was black and he'd left the real world far, far behind.72

"There you are," said one voice and73

"We found you," said another at the exact same time. 74

They had light, monotonous British accents, which reminded Duncan of American actors playing Englishmen in a particularly bad made for tv movie he'd seen once. The two, whoever they were, sounded exactly alike, and if not for their voices overlapping Duncan would have been inclined to believe that it was one man talking to himself.75

"Well of course we found him. We're the only ones looking for him, then, aren't we?"76

"If you think the Queen isn't, you're a fool."77

"We're a fool, you mean."78

"Yes we are."79

"The Queen?" Duncan sat up and rubbed his eyes, which were watering too profusely to see. He heard the soft rustle of tall grass blowing in the breeze, and the white noise of insects and frogs cresting and waning chaotically. "The Queen? Like Freddie Mercury?"80

The Tweedles would have laughed, but the art of laughter had a bit too much song to it, so they could only muster a flat, vocalized "ha."81

"No, not like that at all. Poor fella."82

"He must still be disoriented."83

"Oh, must he now?"84

"The sun hasn't set yet, if you haven't noticed."85

"I've noticed."86

Duncan saw a blurry, obese figure bend over his prone body and extend one beefy hand to flick him in the forehead. His eyes still blurring, he watched as the figure split into two, then one, then two again.87

"Snap to, lad. It can't be twilight all day."88

"You ought not do that, you know. He's in a bit of a fragile state. You could very well do something drastic, like shake the sky loose from..."89

"From the what?"90

There was a pause.91

"From the sky, no doubt. Could just drop right onto us."92

"Bollocks."93

Duncan felt a finger slap against his forehead again; directly between the eyes.94

"Come, then. You're alright. Had a bit of a tumble through the looking glass, right, right?"95

Duncan shook his head. The wind gusted and calmed to a breeze once more, scattering purplish seed pods one the end of parasol-like blossoms into the air from their places of rest amongst the colorful grasses.96

"Wow. What happened? I mean seriously, what the hell? I must be really tripping hard." Duncan continued to rub his eyes, which he couldn't seem to make focus for the life of him.97

"Tripping?"98

"He means on narcotics."99

"Oh. I thought he meant falling down."100

"I know."101

"I know you know."102

"Well he's not on narcotics."103

"Tell him that!"104

The silhouettes of the Tweedles shifted in the blurry field of Duncan's vision and turned towards him.105

"You are not on narcotics," said one.106

"You are in Wonderland," said the other.107

"Wonderland?" Duncan laughed and coughed at the same time, groaning as he recovered from the respiratory spasm. "Pssh. Yeah I am."108

"Well he took that rather well."109

"He must be still a bit groggy, that's all."110

Duncan's head snapped back as he was battered by another strong flick of the index finger.111

"Ow! Dammit, cut that out!"112

The sun dropped suddenly off the horizon and night fell over the land like an anvil.113

"Much better," said the Tweedles.114

"We'll camp here."115

"You need your rest."116

"Doze off about now, if you'd like."117

And so Duncan did.118

~~~119

His name was the Two of Clubs, but the Queen just called him duece. She called all the twos duece, and he didn't like it. So he killed her.120

He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before, really. He liked killing. It was his job to kill. He killed alot of things he didn't like; and he had alot of fun killing the Queen.121

"You cut off her head!" said the Three of Hearts. The Hearts had always been the Queen's favorites, and they seemed incredibly distraught over the loss. "How could you do this?"122

The Two of Clubs shrugged, preoccupied by the fantastic amount of blood pouring from that bitch's decapitated corpse.123

Red.124

She'd always so loved red. The flowers in the trees in the garden were red, which matched the garden walls, which matched the little roses growing on vines around the perimeter, which matched the Queen's blood, which matched the deep crimson of the sunset.125

All the soldiers murmured and whispered to eachother. Without the Queen or King around to make orders, it was very difficult for them to be decisive enough to spur them to action.126

"Well, someone has to tell the King!" The Nine of Hearts, one of the higher ranking cards, shot the Two of Clubs a terrified look and dashed off towards the garden entrance; towards the palace. 127

The Two of Clubs picked up the Queen's croquet mallet; a massive wooden maul with a red stripe around the handle and head. 128

All at once, it got dark. And in the pitch black, the killing started.129

In darkness, blood is black. It filled the garden like rainwater in a cement pond, spilling and spraying in glorious ebon splashes and arcs. 130

The Two of Clubs was happy. He hadn't been happy in a long time. With each swing he grew happier and happier. Some of them were red cards, and some of them were black, but in the dark it was too hard to tell the difference. They all died just as gracefully, a symphony of cracks, and snaps, and screams. They reached a crescendo as he smashed and crushed his way through the Palace, and the opus culminating in the final, shrill, gurgling shriek of the King.131

It was pitch black by the time the Two was finished. He sat in the Throne, covered in a slippery wash of blood, content for perhaps the first time in his life.132

In a forest that was even darker than the darkest dark, the Black Knight chuckled. It was the only sound that issued from that place that night, and it echoed from tree to tree until morning came.133

{ Here may ye find the waking of the Queen of Hearts: allpoetry.com/Story/1191317 }134

"Should we wake him?" one of the Tweedles asked of the other.135

It was dark, which wouldn't do for a morning at all. Mornings, traditionally, involve the sun rising at some point. Well, the dead of night was still fast upon the waking world. The Tweedles thought it may be because Duncan was still asleep.136

"But isn't a Dreamer supposed to be sleeping? I mean, that is what he does, is it not? He dreams. And he sleeps while he does so, right?"137

"Well, not necessarily. Could be he's a Daydreamer, and not just a regular sort of Dreamer at all."138

Duncan snored softly.139

"So, should we wake him?" said one Tweedle, but the other was already shaking the Daydreamer softly. 140

"Wake and wake up, now."141

Duncan snored louder.142

"Now he's just being rude." A Tweedle stopped shaking him. "You think, perhaps, you could do that one thing that-"143

"Of course, my brother." The other Tweedle stooped down and flicked Duncan squarely between the eyes.144

"....What. The. Hell!" Duncan sat up slowly and the sun suddenly shot into the sky. A flock of small, pink birds, startled by the sudden burst of light and color, scattered from their resting place in a tuft of salmon-colored grass somewhere behind the Tweedles and flew into the open air.145

Duncan shook his head violently. "I'm still dreaming."146

"Thankfully, you are," said one Tweedle and147

"A Daydreamer indeed!" said the other.148

"So this is Wonderland, huh? I mean this is still Wonderland?" Duncan rubbed his eyes. "Wow."149

Far across the rolling plains, behind a thin veil of shimmering fog, the outline of dramatically jagged mountain peaks was visible. A small cloud of lime green insects buzzed by, swirling and jostling for position. From a cluster of wild, tangled bushes, a bird sung wordlessly in a smoke-broken, bassy voice, pausing occasionally to cough and sputter.150

"Wow," repeated Duncan. "Just; wow." He stood up slowly and stretched. "Now, creepy twin guys, tell me something; how do I get home?"151

"The Rabbit Hole," they both said. 152

"But you won't want to do that."153

"No, not at all."154

"Yeah, right. Why wouldn't I?" Duncan glared down at the Tweedles.155

"Because you're the Dreamer."156

"That's right; you are, you know."157

"Wonderland is.... Well, it's...."158

"Wonderland is yours."159

"It exists in your head."160

"Well, not your head, really but-"161

"But you understand."162

Duncan didn't understand, which had only a little to do with the twins' nearly indecipherable banter. "So I lost it completely, or what?"163

The Tweedles shrugged, and went about getting breakfast together.164

Duncan had lost it, in the context of the sanity we, as the sane, are familiar with. However, he'd gained something else; Wonderland, living in his head like a hermit crab.165

"Where is the Rabbit Hole?" he asked. 166

The Tweedles looked up from their careful mushroom foraging across the multi-colored grass. "Very well," said one while the other continued looking. "We'll take you there."167

"After breakfast," said the other, his mouth full of blue, fleshy mushroom and drool.168

"So I'm ready. You can tell me now." Duncan waited patiently for the Tweedles to chew and swallow.169

"What is it I'm going to be telling you?" said one and170

"We're going to be telling you, that is," said the other.171

"Why I'm here, what this place is, and all the other things that I obviously want to know."172

"Well," the Tweedles responded, alternating which of them spoke as they explained, "you are in Wonderland, you are the Dreamer, and what that means is this:"173

And they told him.174

Imagine you are god. Imagine that the entire world exists inside your head, and, with the proper concentration and a modicrum of belief, you can alter it, either at will or accidentally. Now imagine being comfortable with that idea. 175

Duncan was, and he found this strange. Usually responsibility in any form had the power to unnerve him, but being the Dreamer was a task he met with only slight excitement carefully bordering trepidation. The mind of a drug person is it's own world anyways, and he figured that this one, whether a product of his mind or, as the Tweedles would have him believe, the mind of another, it was no different than a dream in an acid frenzy, and a fiendishly cartoony one at that. Besides, he wouldn't be there long. They were already on their way to the Rabbit Hole, talking as they walked.176

The color-changing fields have given way to slightly rockier terrain and scrub. Sometimes the occasional bush would grumble and walk away if one of them tred on a protruding root, but the vegetation seemed to tolerate them fairly well, and the wildlife kept itself aloof and absent. There was a path through the brush, but it disappeared, occasionally, overlayed by creeping moss or a small patch of flowers, which would excuse itself politely before hunkering off. 177

Duncan looked around, pretending not to be fascinated by everything he saw. "So this is th- WHA THE FUCK IS THAT THING?!"178

In the middle of the path, what looked like a small pile of self-motivated roadkill chunks was assembling itself into a rather large feline shape.179

"Only me," it said.180

"Oh dear," said one Tweedle.181

"What do you want?" asked the other.182

"Yeah, mother fucker! What do you want, and why are you a cat who's in my fuckin way?" Duncan balled up his fists and tilted his head slightly to one side, a posture he used occasionally when dealing with petty thugs or people who owed him money. The gore of the Cheshire Cat's appearance had so shocked him that it was all he could do to calm the frantic beating of his heart.183

"Tweedles, your question I may answer. The boy here has me confused, though." The Cheshire Cat grinned, though this was not necessarily because he was happy. He used that expression also to convey bewilderment, as well as anger, sadness, or fear.184

"What don't you get, Cat? All you weird fucks get to be whatever you think you are, right? So why are you some fucked up lookin cat? Why not be big, or normal, or both, or something cool like-" Duncan shot his gaze upwards, where something big was flying overhead. "-Like that thing! Whoa, shit!"185

"That's the Raven!" The Tweedles hugged eachother and shivered as its shadow passed them over.186

The Raven was a pitch black collection of twisting, intertwining shadow. Two bright red eyes peered from over the midnight spike of its beak, and its ragged anti-material shreds tore the light from the sky and spread silence like a forest fire in its wake, a silence broken only by a single echoing cry:187

"Hell yeah! Look at it go!" Duncan hollered.188

{ Here may ye find the waking of the King of Hearts: allpoetry.com/Story/1236009 }189

"I don't get it," said Duncan, "what about it is a writing desk?"190

The Raven had long past, and the Tweedles had only currently released terrified grip of eachother in its shadow.191

"He hasn't met the Hatter yet," they explained, seemingly exasperated by the fact.192

"Well, well, well; I certainly hope you intended to, my friend." The Cheshire Cat appeared and disppeared in a seemingly absent-minded abuse of vanishing ability. "He is the sole ambassador of our world, you know. It's said he lives in both."193

Duncan stared silently for a moment, transfixed by the constant blood and guts of the Cheshire Cat's passage to and from the reality of Wonderland. "That's great and all, but I still don't want to meet him. I want to go home."194

"Only he knows where you can find the Rabbit Hole." The Cheshire cat's grin grew broader.195

"Truly, he does," said the Tweedles.196

"And none of the rest of us do."197

"No."198

"Not even a little bit."199

"So. Where's he reside?" Duncan asked, putting his most resilient street-corner edge on the question.200

"Come," said the Cheshire Cat, "I'll show you."201

Duncan followed the Cat's movements with much greater faith than, perhaps, the feline deserved.202

One can contemplate the infinancy of possibility for as long as they choose, but it is only understood once; in those short moments of enlightenment bordering lunacy. That is what Duncan experienced as he walked through Wonderland in the company of one or two former musicians called the Tweedles, guided by a crazed assembly of limbs, organs, skin and fur, more or less there all at once, on his way to meet a man he'd heard of in a book, for tea, he assumed.203

From the Cheshire Cat’s elated descriptions of their destination, Duncan had expected a large table in the middle of the woods with lots and lots of free food and tea that changed colors depending on what cup it was poured into. Instead, the Mad Hatter’s perpetual tea party seemed to be nothing more than a litter of condiments and superfluous dinnerware strewn haphazardly around a hideous expanse of bloated fur.204

“That,” said Duncan, his left arm extended to indicate the obvious object of his disgust, “is repulsive. What the fuck and all of everything that’s fuckin’ gross is that thing?”205

“Oh dear,” said the Tweedles in unison.206

The Cheshire Cat fell into bleeding squarish chunks as he laughed uncontrollably.207

“God, this is so gross. This whole fuckin place is fuckin gross. You guys are still kinda normal,” said Duncan, indicating the Tweedles, “but-“208

“Sorry about that, by the way,” interjected one of the Tweedles.209

“Yes, sorry terribly.”210

“You see, we’ve forgotten how to make song.”211

“And this is because you cannot, of course.”212

“err…. Apparently.”213

Duncan whirled about. “The fuck I can’t!” he said, “How many mo bullet holes than fo-fos?! Right?! BOOYA!”214

The Tweedles looked at him expectantly.215

“That was it!” said Duncan. “Stop looking at me like you’re gonna lose it. That was the song. Now what.” he pointed to the pile of fur that lay flaccid where the table should have been. “What?! What?! What the hell?!”216

The Cheshire Cat continued to laugh as he spoke. “He ate them!” The feline roared, “the Doormouse must have been starving today!” Bleeding pieces of flesh, tissue and fur appeared and vanished randomly in the air.217

A muffled yell came from someplace in the Doormouse’s hirsute folds. It said something that may have been “Thank God!” (but probably was not) followed by a long string of garbled expletives and a clear request: “Let me out!”218

“That was weird.” Duncan continued to wipe his hands on his t-shirt long after the filthier part of the business was finished. 219

“Oh, YES it was.” The Mad Hatter’s voice cracked and peaked dramatically. A glistening layer of yellowish bile covered his usual purple velvet suit and matching hat. He was smoking a rather large cigar, a fact which seemed to disturb the Tweedles.220

“That’s against the rules,” said one.221

“That’s right,” said the other.222

“Yes we are.”223

“Shut up!” squeaked the Hatter, smoke pouring from his mouth. “There are no rules now.”224

“Yeah,” said Duncan distractedly. “My world.” He pointed at himself. “Mine.”225

The March Hare looked more like the proverbial drowned rat as he retched and gagged on increasing amounts of bile and digestive fluids. 226

“Give me one of those.” Duncan absent-mindedly inhaled and exhaled glittering Wonderland smoke as the March Hare puked violently and the Cheshire Cat continued his perpetual, maniac giggle.227

That cat had taught him how to do it between bouts of laughter. It was so easy…. And besides the stomach gunk, it had disappeared completely. All it had taken was a point of his finger and a click of his thumb.228

Puh.229

{Here may ye find the waking of the Doormouse: allpoetry.com/Story/1284736}230