Alice Apocalypse, Chapter 3

Her fingers weave into each other. Sure, they used to dream in colours, fantasies soaring, unbidden songs painting a mirage upon her stark, putrid soul.
Her fingers ache to tear away the canvas, taunting, haunting but yet so true. So true it makes her cry. Her fingers sift through the years, the memories compiled into a scrapbook that yellow with each lie that lolls about in her mouth. They are tearing apart, breaking down, drifting away with the wind. She can no longer remember Eden.

"Nox, I'm in Nox." she whispers to herself, reassuringly.

The chant has become a string, a delicate-oh,so-fragile thread between reality and desire. Her mantra, her lifejacket to keep her safe from the clutches of despair. No, she will not fall prey to envy. She will not coat her lips with the syrupy taste of jealousy. She will not remember Eden, she will not know of the happiness--there was nothing to be thought about of Eden, it was nothing but a place too far away for her to reach out for. A place for idealists, perfection, beauty-- nothing for her. Eden and Nox were words too different, like the like poles of a magnet (alike, in the aspect that only the most extreme superlatives can be used to describe them). Repel, repel away the thoughts, shoo away the emotions.

"Puppet, frayed, ugly, bitter. I don't deserve emotions. I don't, I don't." The blunt words pierce at her heart, but this is the truth.

She remembers The Casting.

"You don't belong here, you never will."

"Disgusting child, oh what have we done to deserve such devil?"

"Her heart. It's black. Her eye, it rebels."

"Don't look into her eye, sweetheart. It's a mirror."

"It's a curse, a curse."

"My Alice ! AliceohAlice with the beautiful eyes."

"She's nothing but a danger, her eyes, they rebel against our common rules!"

"Mom?"

"Away with her!" 

"Alice, Alice, don't. Don't leave me!"

"Mom, I don't. No! Let me go!"

"You are naught but ugliness herself, your left eye, a curse. Banished to Nox, you will be! Monster!"

"Alice, my dear Alice. Don't let them take you away."

"I'm not a monster!"

"UGLY!"

"Shut up!"

"MONSTER!" 

"I'm not a monster."

"GO AWAY! NO ONE LIKES YOU!"

"I'm not a monster. I'm not."  

She left for Nox, even before The Casting. In the darkness of the night, she left. Comforting silence engulfed her and she never saw the need to hear those derogatory terms. She was a monster of the night, a monster of Nox.

"Alice, you have to know that your eye is a blessing." her mother pats her head.

"I wish I were blind."

"Alice!"

"That way I wouldn't have to see their eyes and look at mine in the mirror. Oh wait, my left eye is a mirror, right? Just good enough for me to peer in the dimmed light in Nox, isn't it?"

"Alice." 

"I know. My left eye is a mirror. A devil, they say. The cards on the table do nothing but condemn me."

Alice flips her hand over to reveal the imprint of The Joker on her palm.

"Alice!"

Silence.

A joker symbolizes a loner, forever to be hidden in the shadows, to be avoided. Alice the Joker, she thought wryly. The name did seem to suit her.

But yes, there was no happiness in Eden, there was nothing, except the sprinkling of salt over her wounds. 

Alice gingerly picks up the papers, stares at the scribbles once more. She stares at a drawing of Aurelia and her. Alice's fringe is long, too long. It covers her left eye. Aurelia merely grins and nudges Alice. Aurelia was the first to know her secret. She was also the first to tell it.

''Aurelia?"

"Yes, Alice?" Aurelia smiles, looking up at Alice.

Alice shuffles her feet.

"I have a secret."

The word lures Aurelia in, as she tugs on Alice's hand.

"What is it?" she mumbles, excited.

Alice pushes her fringe away and anxiously beams.

Aurelia falls back, shocked.

"Devil," Aurelia calls, disregarding their friendship.

Alice pauses in motion, letting her fringe drop back to cover her eye. 

Devil. Aurelia called her a devil. Devil.

Alice stares hard at Aurelia's sketchy drawing. The lines seem to unscramble themselves to form a word. Devil. She wishes she could remember the happy moments in Eden, let the feeling of joy wash over her [for once in such a long time]. But there is nothing. Alice rethinks.

"The first time I got my flower."

It is blank.

"I received chocolates."

Blank, still.

"Rolling in the grass!"

Nothing.

"Singing with the choir!"

Blank, Empty. Nothing. Black. Fuzzy.

"You're nothing but a monster. Ugly, pathetic. You don't deserve Eden. You don't deserve anything."

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

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Oh what is this I don't even.

T.T 

I was planning on writing to complete another chapter of Alice Apocalypse but it came out in tatters.

Oh, I'll just publish it and watch as you squirm in horror at the nonsensical stuff.

~o~

Alice Apocalypse, Chapter 2

There is not much doubt in the stillness of the night. She gazes out over the horizon, in her hand a mug. Jagged lines run down the porcelain cup, staining its pure whiteness with stripes of black. Her hand hovers above the cup, and she stares up at the stars.

It is warm and deeply scented with the thick fragrance of coffee. She sniffs at her palm, amused at her own actions. Under the deep cloak of the sky-- ragged and bitter with blackness-- she feels comfort. It is probably unheard of to be out of home, even though it was her home-- the wilderness outside of the barriers of thick, cold walls, in the darkness. This is the time for the members of the triads, a secret meeting amongst the smoky haze. Deep grunts and irritated growls.

"Alice," he breathes.

She groans. Mike, again. He was pestering her over her meeting with Brian, once more. That thick-skull moron, she pauses in her thoughts, wondering who she was exactly scolding. Both, she decides. Mike shuffles over to where she sits, his palm falling over hers. Rolling her eyes, she slaps it away. He settles down into the nest of grass and stares at her. His onyx hair falling into his eyes and his thumb resting on his lower lip.

"What now, Mike?" she demands.

"The papers, you left them--"

"I have no need for such junk."

"Then why the hassle to retrieve it from Brian?"

She laughs shakily, gingerly placing the mug on the grass. The brown liquid sloshes about in its own hypnotising pattern and she gazes at it dazedly. He pokes her arm, and she shudders at the warmth of his hand.

"I assumed you should have known by now."

"Tell me," he questions, leaning in.

"There is no need to tell you."

"Hm," he draws back, staring at the stars.

There is a brief silence as she glances at his profile, surprised at the sudden disappearance of curiosity. She raises an eyebrow suspiciously and scowls. There is no doubt that his very presence --although it had meant to be one to comfort-- was disturbing her. To each her own, there was not much trust-- most of the people who joined the 'black' society had their trusts worn out and splintered into fragments-- if there was even trust left to be placed into the unpredictable hands of people.

She is back in Nox, away from the peacefulness of Eden. In Nox, most of the hours are dedicated to the darkness, to the dreams of the night. Eden was crippling, the bright sunlight that caressed her face, blowing lightly at the strands of chocolate hair that masked half of her face. She tried to draw up her hood, but the people there didn't seem to mind, so she showed her face and arms, proudly embossed with the Nox mark.

"Tell me about Eden," Mike pips up.

"What?"

"Eden, you heard me."

"Who would ever want to know about that place?"

"I do."

"We're in Nox, dude." She sighs at Mike's antics.

"Just because we're in Nox doesn't mean that we can't dream."

"We all dream--"

"Dream in colours?" he interrupts.

"Monochromatic world, this one is. We're in Nox. It's a secret rule never to yearn to be back in that place. We're different, better not to know about Eden," she shakes her head, reaching out for the mug once more.

"I was curious, I don't yearn for things. I am incapable of feeling strong emotions, you know that."

"Fine, it's a place where Nyan-Cats poop rainbows and fluffy ponies fly all over the palace of wonders, hear that?"

"You're speaking like them, now," he complains, ruffling her hair.

"Dude, you didn't have to ruffle my hair. It's true that there are Nyan-Cats that poop rainbows and dudes that sing in chipmunk-like sopranos."

"No, not like the others. You speak difficult terms of the people in Eden."

"I do not," she spits.

"We were from there, once. I don't see what's wrong in speaking like them," he draws circles on the grass.

"It's wrong, it just is."

With that final statement, she stands up with the mug in hand and stomps away. Mike glances dazedly at her retreating figure. She sighs, swallowing back that tiny amount of hesitation. Right now, she would have rather been from Aora, even Kingslain than Eden. Anywhere but that. And she would rather Mike be smarter, instead of being ignorant to spew out logical statements that made her head hurt. If only his brain was a bit more warped and dark.

Then again, she wished that everyone's mind was less complex and simpler. That was the only way she could return to Eden-- an impossible dream of vivid colours.
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I has no idea what I has written.

You can see that my brain have deteriorated to the point where I has no grammar at all.

... Alice is squishy and cute.
Jerry, don't tell her that, even tho I repeat it to her every single day.
Lol.

Ollie : D

Alice Apocalypse, Chapter 1

"You used to be here, didn't you?"

There is a pregnant pause.

"Sorta, I guess," she murmurs, stubbing her cigarette on the table

Her fingers scrape through the bunch of drawings kept in the file. Many are dog-eared, withering. On the surface, they are nothing but bleak, dull and random doodles that would never make any sense at all. They are armed with battle scars, who stand tall and proud of the evidence of their bravery. The lines are crooked, winding and long. The papers droop into a low, respectful bow. 

Her slender fingers slide against the rough material of the paper. She sniggers and it soon escalates into a maniacal laughter. He glances at her, taking a casual swig of the beer. The scribbles are still there, faded over time. Yet they sparkle, gleaming in the dim light. 

Don't you remember? Don't you? They ask softly. 

She nods her head seriously, her fingertips tracing the lines. Jagged, uneven and forceful. A sudden spark of indignant, anger and yet bitter regret. A corner of her lips creeps upward, as she flips through the papers almost nonchalantly. She slams the file on the table and leans across it, tilting her head to the side. The cigarette has fallen to the ground, yet it still burns on passionately. Sparks flicker in and out of existence, struggling to survive-- and impossible task. The smoke drifts and floats up in the air, slithering away from the two wretched souls. It hisses in amusement as it watches the exchange between the two doomed souls, one who is trying to redeem what is left of her splintered life, wash away the blackness that has eaten away her soul; the other in defeat, condemned to his own fate already. It smirks and wafts away into another adventure, a new life...

"So?" he asks lowly.

"I... am pleasantly surprised. Name it," she demands hoarsely, combing through her dyed hair.

"I am hurt, that you think so much of me," he leans back into the shadows, but she can still hear the mocking tone-- it is too familiar.

"I see, farewell, we will never have to meet again," she taunts, grabbing the file before standing up.

She takes a step out of her seat and turns.

He makes no movement.

Her steps are deliberate, as she waits for the next sentence to be uttered with malice. The audience is waiting, as she is too-- with an impatient mind. The lines are to be said-- it is the way of the triads, a rule. Her next faltering step is the cue, yet he takes no notice.

Silence still rules. It is too loud.

Where are the shouts? The affronted bangs on the table?


She spins around, angered. What is he doing? He sits at the table, his beady eyes narrowed. His lips curl up into a sneer, a smug look plastered on his face. Her anger amplifies. How dare he toy around with her? She growls, although the temporary disfigurement of her face does not mar her beauty.

"You expected an idiot," he fingers his chin. "Now you lose."

"We'll see."
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Ollie : I'm so glad that Alice doesn't have an access to my blog. :D:D:D
... Well, I wanted to reserve the title 'Alice in Wonderland' for another play, but this just fit perfectly. Yesh, I am obsessed with 'Alice in Wonderland' for the moment...

Edit: it is now called 'Alice Apocalypse'. :D


Ollie