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Alice in Wonderland

Summary:
"His eyes were red and he stared at me with hunger. I screamed as
loud as I could, begging for someone to find me. To help me. 'It's only you
and I now.' James whispered, licking his lips. I cringed as the pain began."
Alice's story from childhood to the moment she kissed Jasper. It's been a recurring story in my mind and I needed to get it down. Read and Enjoy. Banner is to come by next chapter.


Notes:
Hey Guys. Here’s a new story for you all. Don’t worry, I shall not forget about What We Become. I’m one story short, and felt I needed to get this one out. I’ve been wanting to write a story from Alice’s perspective for quite some time. I hope this story doesn’t disappoint. Especially you Colin, because I know you like to tell me what you think of my stories. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, although you get mean sometimes. *sniff* I don’t know if I’ll be blogging this story or not, so tell me if I should. If you are a newcomer, check out my blog. The link is on my profile. Enjoy this story. If you think I should continue as she ages, tell me. Or if you think I should skip from childhood to asylum, let me know too.


1. Chapter 1 -- Father's Special Daughter

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2318   Review this Chapter

Chapter One -- Father’s special daughter

The fields behind my house were yellowed from the winter that had just recently passed. The snow had seized to exist, but there was still a chill in the air that kept my arms glued against my chest. I could almost see the breath as it left my mouth, and my hands trembled, held against my lips. The old wooden gate that stood erect on the other side of the field suddenly opened. A man with a deep fur coat, and a hat covering his eyes stepped into the afternoon sun. The trees on the other side fell back into place from his disruption. I stomped my boots on the stairs of the veranda and stood up. My heart beat picked up as I waited for him to cross the yard. The man lifted his large hand and pulled his hat off, immediately crouching to eye level. I grinned from ear to ear and leapt into his awaiting arms. I was suddenly warm, and at that moment there was nothing in my heart I loved more than my father.

When I was a small child, my father used to tell me stories to make me sleep at night. I was one of those children that had a difficult time falling asleep. There was one story he made sure to tell me every night, and it was his pleasure to tell any guest in the house the tale as well.

“My Mary was born the most special of all my children.
For she was born with her eyes open. I remember when
the midwife put her in my arms, pink and soft. And she
smiled at me and within seconds grasped my finger. A
smart one she was. And she didn’t cry. Her sisters before
her both cried their little hearts out, but not my Mary Alice.”

In my eyes, my father was my hero. He told me everything I needed to know. He taught me all that was expected of a child, and when it was my time to start school, he was reluctant to set me free into the real world. “A world full of dark, untrustworthy things,” he would tell me. And on the day when my mother woke me up from my short sleep, an excited smile on her face as she dressed me in one of my best dresses, I couldn’t help but feel as if everything was no longer going to be the same. My father wasn’t there when I left that morning, he had been called in early to the newspaper where he worked. My sisters, Liza and Cynthia, were both older than I was. Liza, the eldest had a knack for taking it upon herself to remind us of that fact at any given moment. Cynthia was my safety, my shelter; she was the one with whom I would stay up with at night. I’d stumble into her bedroom when I was afraid, and she would pull back the covers, and we’d whisper until we fell asleep. Cynthia was a year older than I.

With a quick shuffle, my mother had my stomach full of toast and cheese, and my pockets full of seeds and a couple of hard candies for later. “Just in case” she whispered into my ear as she buttoned up my jacket. I smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

“’Bye Momma.” I said. She passed me my new books and I turned around and took Cynthia’s awaiting hand. She looked slightly sorry for me. She had suffered the same treatment the year before. Mine was extra special though, because I was the youngest. Momma couldn’t walk with me to the school house, because she was much to weak to step into the autumn air. She had her new baby inside her to take care of. The one that would take my place.
Liza took hold of my other hand and started to lead us out into the September wind. I was anxious to begin a new journey, and I was afraid that the school children wouldn’t like me. Liza said that these were feelings that everyone went through, and I wasn’t as special as I thought I was. I scrunched up my nose and said no more.

The walk was exactly three miles away. I counted in my head as we walked, but lost count after 9000. After we entered the town, which by that time was called a small-city by the townsfolk, we got onto a carriage that could hold about fifty students. It was mostly country children who took this carriage; they would climb on after walking the distance from their home to the edge of the city. From there it was a two mile ride, on very stiff benches, to the school. My first trip there was faster than any of the other ones I would take. I made sure I remembered every turn we made, every building and street sign. Just in case there came a time when I would have to walk these streets alone. The school was rather large, and stood between two tall buildings. There was a small yard in front, and from the angle the carriage was going, a nicely fenced field in behind. There was also a baseball diamond. As the carriage stopped, a motorcar rushed by from beside us. It stopped on the curve and three small children jumped down from the back. I watched with an air of fascination. Our family hadn’t the money for a motor car. Even if we did, father said they were a waste of God’s resources and were not meant to be invented. I had nothing to do but agree with him, I always agreed with him. The man in the drivers seat waved and then drove off in between the other carriages on the street. Liza jerked my arm and I looked up at her.

“Let’s go. Stop dreaming and get off the carriage.” She whispered. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment, there were still many people behind us waiting to get off. I looked around me, rose from my seat, and followed my sisters into the school yard. Liza left us almost abruptly. She was five years older than I was, and she had friends waiting for her near the school wall. I kept a firm grip on Cynthia’s hand as she led me up the stairs and into the school. It smelt different; not right. Our house had always the smell of animals, of firewood, of pine; this school smelt oddly like pungent rags and heavy ink. I was forced to scrunch my nose once more.

Cynthia left me once one of the directors had taken my name. The woman, known as Miss. White, took me down the only hallway and stopped outside a door near then end. Miss. White had another little girl holding onto her other hand and we both went inside at the same time. All the children were new, I was not supposed to be afraid to be the one to stand out, but I was. I was sent to sit near the front of the room. There were still plenty of empty seats. Miss. White took a seat at the front desk and we all waited. I folded my arms neatly in front of me, like Daddy told me to. I kept my back straight, and my chin high. The little boy next to me watched me with incredulous eyes.

“Are you a rich girl?” He asked me. I looked at him.

“I am rich in spirit and imagination.” I said back, looking to the front again. The boy laughed and then turned to the girl next to him and began talking to her. I frowned but didn’t turn to look at him again. The rest of the class filled up quickly until it was full. Everyone was looking around themselves. Miss. White stood at the front of the class, a kind smile on her heart-shaped face.

“Hello boys and girls and welcome to your first day of school. You’re going to learn plenty of things about writing and maths and…” It didn’t take me, the small seven-year-old to loose focus on the teacher. She was very pretty and obviously very smart, but the sky outside the window deemed more pleasant than anything else. And that was were I sat until we were told it was time to play.

Outside, Cynthia found me and brought me to a tall tree near the fence. We sat down together and we shared my seeds and candy.

“Did you like it?” She asked me. I shrugged my shoulders. “Did the teacher read to you?” I nodded.

“I like it better when Daddy reads to me.”

“ Daddy’s not going to be there forever, you know.” Cynthia said. “You’re going to have to say goodbye sometime.”

“I still have lots of time.” I said. We stopped talking for a while.

“Why are those children looking at you like so?” She asked. I turned and met they eyes of the little boy who sat in the chair next to mine all morning.

“I don’t know.” I bowed my head.

“What did you do, Mary?” She asked, her eyebrows coming together. She crossed her arms. I sighed and gave her a sheepish smile.

“I forgot to listen.” I finished off my snack. “The teacher asked us to say what number we could count to, and I said ten thousand. She told me that no one can count that high; it is much too high for a child to count. I told her that I could and I started counting for her.” I looked down again. “I didn’t make it twenty before she sent me to stand in the corner.”

I wasn’t aware that Cynthia was laughing until I had finished. I slapped her hand, which shut her mouth quickly. “It will pass quickly.” She let on. “You have to be what they want you to be. The teachers don’t like it when you’re smarter than them.”

The days passed. Soon a week had already passed, and I still spent all my time with Cynthia. The other children in my classroom didn’t want to be my friends. I was the quiet one, the one who liked to stare out the window then learn her letters. They didn’t know that I could read already, write already, and just didn’t care to learn it all again. I did like Miss. White. She was very kind to me when I chose not to question her. Instead, I found my place listening to everything I didn’t know, and dreaming of waterfalls during the things I did.

One morning, the snow appeared again. It was dreary and enveloped the fields in sadness. The school was sad as well. Our free time was spent indoors now. Christmas was on its way, and the teachers had decorated the school with holly and spruce. I found it beautiful. We were sitting in one of the empty classrooms, Cynthia had brought a boy name Jeffery along, and we were playing cards under the desks. Jeffery was a nice boy, and he always smiled at me when we passed in the hallway. The card game was going well, I was winning. I had a knack of being able to guess the cards they were going to use next. Cynthia got irritated about it quickly and gave up, leaning against the wall.

“I wonder what Mother and Father got me for Christmas.” She mused. I smiled and thought hard about what I wanted too. The image of a rocking chair came to mind. I laughed. That would be a nice gift. I looked at Cynthia and wondered….

“I bet you’re going to get a new doll house.” I said to her.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. I’m guessing.” I said. My smile vanished though. I felt as if maybe I said too much. Cynthia just rolled her eyes. Jeffery turned to look at me.

“And what am I going to get? A new baseball bat?”

“No. A tennis racquet, because you’re mother doesn’t want you playing baseball anymore.” We laughed together. Cynthia just watched. The bell rang for classes to resume. I left Cynthia and Jeffery to themselves.

Christmas did come, and with it came dreams. As I opened my gift, I knew what it was at first glance. It was my rocking chair. And as I watched Cynthia open her gift, I felt suddenly wary. If I was right it meant I was quite a good guesser. She opened her gift and appraised her new doll house. My jaw fell open, but I closed it quietly. She had a wicked smile on her face as she touched the smooth wooden house. And then her gaze fell on me.

“You knew!” She pointed at me accusingly. I looked at her with wide eyes. He fingers pointed at me. “Mother she told me what I was going to get! She ruined it for me!”

Mother looked down at me. “Did you know Cynthia’s gift?” She asked, one hand on her belly. I bit my lip.

“I only guessed, Momma.” I said.

“Did you guess your gift as well?” She asked, her eyebrows darting up. I nodded.

“And did you guess it right?”

I nodded again. “It was only a guess.” My cheek began to blaze where she had just hit me. “You went and checked the presents!” She all but yelled.

“Mary snuck into the attic and checked the gifts!” Liza said, calling Father into the room. After finding out what had happened, father looked down at me. This was the one time in my life that I felt afraid of him. I swallowed hard.

“You will not receive Christmas Dinner. You will go to your room. Now.” His voice was not raised, but he spoke with authority that scared me. I began to shake, and I curled into a ball, letting the darkness take me.