User blog:Alcadabra/An Adventure in Underland

Chapter One

He moved with the deliberate gait of a middle aged man whose spirit was crushed, but didn’t want anyone to know. His soul no longer called for change, or betterment, it had surrendered to just live trapped in a shell that wasn’t ready to release his soul yet. He tried to ignore the resentment and anger that he kept locked away inside, his job, his wife, even his friends who weren’t willing to let him go. He stopped and watched a butterfly bounce on the air with lazy wing beats, watched with a detached air, no emotion stirred within, just a mental note that would be lost in the wasteland of his mind.

The inner turmoil and pain had begun to affect him physically, although he went for walks and did push-ups to try and stave it off. He wasn’t sure if the drugs deadened him, or if it was the last of his bulwarks to keep him functioning to earn a living, to manage to keep some sort of social contact. He hoped his heart would give out, an excuse to move on. His chest hurt sometimes, but it hadn’t failed yet.

His head tended to look at the ground in front of him, although he attempted to keep it up so he could hide behind a facade of confidence, wisdom and looking self-assured. Few could look beyond the shutters of his eyes to see the pain, and fewer would realize that you couldn’t actually feel his presence till you almost touched him. A ghost in broad daylight you might not even notice him, and he felt like it.

A slow breath escaped his nostrils, he had a habit of breathing shallowly, as if he wasn’t worthy of his share of air around him. For the third time he took a deep breath and tried to relax his neck and shoulders, as they drooped with a concerted effort only to return to their taunt position within two steps. No self-pity, not much of an emotion exerted itself in his conscious mind, almost a timeless meditative state to attempt to feel anything at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt true joy, and love almost always came with some cost to him.

He started to follow a trail that led through a field, nothing but dry stalks with the occasional small weed showing a little blue or white flower here or there. He avoided star thistle that would puncture through his slacks and flesh, not that he cared about the injury, but that it would itch for some time after that. He sighed, stopped, and just stood, not that his body was weary, but that his soul was and it refused to take another step until he could goad it back into action. He sighed again as a declaration of his noncommittal attitude.

Perhaps another visit to the therapist, perhaps a stronger dose of a drug, or he could scrap the whole thing and try starting over. He had followed these lines of questioning so often that he imagined they were trails in his mind, and did so again in the desperate attempt to find something that he had missed, some little clue, route, something that would give him a direction. Again, nothing. He started walking again, more as something to do than any real desire to.

Hiding behind his disabilities, chronic severe depression and severe ADHD, was pointless, and it was nothing he wanted to use as an excuse. He never had thought of himself as disabled. Broken, yes, but completely able to do what was needed even if the feeling of accomplishment wasn’t usually there. He had long hidden behind his affable personality and humor, now it was like trying to protect himself with a shield made for a small child. It was still there, just inadequate to the task anymore.

There had been a short lived resurgence of who he had once been, what was left, three or four years ago. When that had ended in disaster, the attempts began. He still regretted not pulling the trigger on the first attempt, he felt he was coward for attempting it and more so for not following through. The pain, the guilt following those years had made him submissive, reactive and a general wreck. Then came the last year of trying to live up to the expectations of his job, his wife trying to focus on anything but her pain, injury, and the diagnosis. He had tried to meet each challenge and seemed to fail at each one, causing him to retreat further and further. Now he did things because they were expected of him, he sometimes stood and looked into the distance with some memory or emotion that he was fighting, or had crept up on him unawares. He was forgetful and scattered, focusing was exhausting. He pushed in desperation that he might make break through, or more likely keep him from what he was running from, himself.

He walked over to a lone oak in a field near his work and patted its trunk like an old friend. He sat down under the shade with a heavy grunt that was swallowed by his loneliness. Despite the summer sun and heat, if asked, he would say the day had been gray, although he might recall some birds singing or alarmed of his being there. He felt ill, more than just nausea, but a sickness that coursed through his body and spirit.

A grey striped tabby walked from around the tree, letting forth a pert for attention. Cats and dog were still welcomed company, so he reached over and gently picked it up to place on his lap. She let out a sound of defiance then seemed happy enough to start kneading his thigh as he gently petted her. Purring was one of the few things that still relaxed him, he took advantage of it when he could. He looked around to see where she might have come from, upon finding nothing obvious he grinned softly at her and leaned back against the tree.

Her coat was soft and short, she was fit, obviously not a house cat. The purr filtered through his being, and he yawned. He looked down to meet her eyes, a light blue, which seemed to mesmerize him for a moment. He gave a weary grin, ‘pretty’ he thought. He leaned his head against the tree, the purring lulling him. ‘Wait, a grey tabby shouldn’t have blue eyes, not at this age…’ he thought as he dropped into a doze.

The cat gently pulled away from the now still hand, her purr taking on a deeper range. She stood and looked at the man, “Oh, you will be fun I think. There is much lost, but perhaps much to regain?” A large grin spread across the now human-like face, the fur on her arms and lower legs now resplendent purple with lavender stripes. “Purrrrhaps a push in the right direction?” She leaned forward putting two fingers of her paw against his forehead and pushed. To the casual observer, both man, and cat woman had disappeared. Those more observant would have noticed the smile hanging in mid-air, oddly detached from anything else.

A violent jolt awoke him, who for a moment laid exactly as he was. He was aware he was no longer sitting against a tree, nor was the grass the yellow dried out straw of summer. It was soft, cool, damp. His awareness spread to the ringing in his head, the impact on his back, arms and legs. “Owww,” he stated matter-of-factly, although he did manage to capture surprise as well as a certain sarcasm that went with the odd change of circumstances.

He was slow to lift himself up, not because of the pain or age, but to make sure nothing was broken. He sat and looked around at the verdant green grass, lush trees, and rolling hills and promptly stated “What the …?” Nothing looked familiar, and as he got to his feet in marvel, he noticed the imprint of his prone form, not only in the grass, but into the very sod that had been under him.

“I’m aware, I’m lucid… it can’t be a dream. Can it?” He reached into his pockets, his keys, security badge, phone, it was all gone. He felt his wallet and pulled it out and read his divers license, he had heard that you can’t read in a dream. He felt fairly convinced that he was in fact truly here, wherever here was. A soft warm breeze caressed his frame, and then a panicked thought crossed his mind. “I’ve been taken to the Fey lands?”

He expected giggles, or something to happen to confirm his theory. Nothing changed. His mind raced to put some reason to this most unexpected change, and as he looked around he noted a smile, hanging disconcertedly in midair. His eyebrow renewed its arch, as he started to try and move to see if it was only in 2 dimensions. As he did so a face appeared with it… with cat ears.

He looked into the sky blue eyes, “We’ve met before… although you were grey… the cat that was just in my lap. A Cheshire cat… oh no, that means…” he breathed exasperated.

“Well, aren’t you the sharp one. You’re going to be fun,” she smiled impossibly wide.

“How… you brought me here. Why?” he asked as he tried to answer his own questions, fairly sure that he wouldn’t get a straight answer from anyone who was just a floating head.

“Why not?” her body came into being, a human like body, with paws for both hands and feet, but a suggestive skirt, high stockings, and an intense look in her eyes that was starting to make him feel more like prey then a guest.

He turned to break they eye contact and looked over the landscape. “If that’s the case, then… where should I go first?’

The Cheshire cat came around his right side, “You’re not asking how to get home… how curious” amused and mischievous.

“As it is my first time here, I would think that it would be a shame to waste such an opportunity, and rude if I asked to leave after just getting here. Besides, who am I in a rush to tell? No one would believe me anyway, and given … my history of late, just might earn me more medications.” The vibrancy that he had started to show collapsed on itself as his shoulders dragged earthward. “I wouldn’t mind one of those lovely long sleeved jackets,” he mused.

“Have you been to Wonderland before?” she asked with her eyes shining, and her head tilted to a full ninety degrees. “We’re all mad here.”

“I’d rather explore, at least for a moment before going back. I assume I have to meet with the Red Queen or the Queen of Hearts to be... dismissed?”

“You’re sharp, but broken, the shards of a mirror falling and shattering the shards below.” Her smile diminished until his hand fell upon an ear and started to scratch.

“Poetic.” He gave a slight smile as he could hear her purr. He looked about once more, aware that there was an option that he hadn’t considered. That he had finally snapped, and that he was now trapped in a world of his own making. He envisioned someone finding his body propped up by the tree, probably drooling on himself.

“You expect the worst, don’t you?” she purred.

“Expect the worst, hope for the best, you’ll never be disappointed,” he said flatly, but looking suspiciously at her. He started to walk down a path that he had made out among the flowers and ventured into the forest. The Cheshire cat followed floating alongside, splayed out on her belly, as if on some unseen bed.

“You don’t seem too surprised to see me, do you see many cat women?” He turned to look as the tail was the only part visible.

“I’m not seeing any now. But I do see a lot of catty women daily,” he responded dryly.

“I think I might like you.”

He grunted, “That’s one of us.” He sniffed the air, a smell he had encountered before, but couldn’t place. He stopped and followed his nose.

“That may be, but it isn’t worth going that way for,” she sniggered.

“I know that smell, but I can’t place it.”

“That’s because it’s not yours to place.”

He stopped as he came to an old tree, one that he couldn’t identify. In fact, it was a yew tree with a gash in its ancient side that started over a man’s height and went down into the earth, into a deep blackness that his eyes could not pierce and threatened to absorb his vision till all he could see was the blackness. He breathed in the cool air, letting it stir his memory. He also noted that the Cheshire cat was laying against the trunk, vertically, watching him intently, her tail flicking with inscrutable thoughts.

“It’s the perfume of Lady Death isn’t it? What is this place?” he questioned, remembering the times he was at a passing of a loved one and had noticed variations of the same smell. Sometimes it had been mixed with the smells of a hospital, or apartment, even his own room from when he was a child when his pets died. The memories gently receded from the beach of his mind. He was at peace with death, to him it held no fear, but a promise of the end of pain and regrets. He had been the family grave tender, before he had moved away. He had liked it, it brought a sense of peace and solemnity that he felt was lacking in life. Oddly it had been a place that he could relax, and let his guard down.

“You might think it is nothing, but obviously it holds something,” she smiled.

“Hello Darkness my old friend…” he intoned, but his attention was pulled away by the sound of steel being drawn, he turned and was surprised to see a young blond woman holding a broad sword. He raised an eyebrow as he caught that her breastplate was enameled with pink, that she wore a fascia skirt, leather boots and gloves. The only real part of her armor was the breastplate.

“Your presence is requested by the Queen of Hearts.” She flashed a winning smile at him that somehow seemed to be somehow more predatory.

“Ah, do I stand out that much?” he looked down at his slacks and polo shirt.

“You do,” came a whisper in his ear with a purr.

“You’re one to speak, cat wearing clothes…”

“Shall I take them off?” he stopped there, realizing he was afraid to encourage her to do so. The stranger let out a sigh as she lowered her sword.

“Are you trying to show you’re a pussy?” he fired back.

“Chicken, because look at that cock,” she continued. He felt a something that had become stranger, below his belt.

“Are you coming, or do I need to take you?” the pink knight interrupted. She licked her lips and ran a finger up her thigh.

“Oh boy, I knew I was sexually repressed but this is a whole new level,” he quipped. “I’m actually not very inclined to do so,” he reasoned, “since you’re the one who pulled a blade on me. I’m a visitor, just got here, okay, so I don’t have my passport on me.”

“I don’t think I could ever pass a port, sailors…” gushed the Cheshire cat.

His eyes had been looking for a way to defend himself, when he spotted a long almost straight branch. ‘That’s convenient,’ he thought to himself.

“I may not be one of the Queen’s trumpets, but I am hired to bring you to the castle, one way or another,” she stated with force.

“A merc, got it. Did she say strumpet?” he asked

“Trumpet!” she snarled, irritated, “the Queen’s army.”

He looked over at the Cheshire who was enjoying the encounter immensely with a look of disbelief. “Fifty-four, if you count the jokers, hardly makes an army, unless you’re just one person... Fair enough,” he conceded. He walked over to the impromptu staff and flipped up to his hand with a foot. “Now I feel a little more assured.”

“You really think that branch is going to protect you from me?” sarcasm driped from her voice.

“Yup,” he replied.

“You know, I am one of the best swordswomen in all of Wonderland, and then there is you with just a stick…” she had closed the distance and aimed to cut the staff in two, but he swiftly swept the sword to the side and gave her a rap on the top of her forehead. She looked stunned for a moment or two, “… but you seem capable,” she continued, “so you might actually know what you’re doing with it.”

He gave her a quick smile, “not the size, it’s how you use it,” then went back to a defensive stance.

“Breaking you will be fun,” she jeered as she leapt into the fray, he met her and with thrust, slash, block and dodge they felt each other out. He started to notice that her blows seemed trained on his belt.

“Pardon me, trying to undress me?” he asked with an English accent.

“Aren’t you?”

The idea had become so taboo, the comment caught him totally off guard. He was aware of a cut, a deep scratch to his skin, but also his belt no longer holding up his pants. He had lost enough weight so that his pants would often slide down as he moved around. The more he moved the further they went, until, unwilling to pull up his pants, he was exposed to his boxer briefs.

“Nice! Shake that thang!” shouted the Chesire. “Wait, what happened, you should have an ass, or least something there. Here gluts, here gluts, gluuuuuie, gluuuuuuuuie.”

“Great, cat calls,” he quipped as he kicked off his shoes to step out of the loose garment. His opponent seemed distracted by his newly reveled form, so he took the opening and brought the staff down on her sword hand, which caused her to drop the sword with a yelp. She glared at him, as he grinned. Then from below her skirt a transparent fuchsia mass shot out and snagged the staff out of his surprised grasp.

“What the fuck,” he gasped, stunned.

“Language,” said the blond, as it launched out at him again, all the while she smiled manically.

He leapt to the side. “I don’t want to know,” unsure of where the goo was coming from, but he could guess “No, I’m sure I don’t want to know.” He dodged twice more, but the prolonged exertion was causing him to gasp for breath and sweat heavily. The goo finally struck his right arm as he used it as a shield. It was warm, sticky, but not that slimy. He felt an odd tickling start to sink into it, extending to his hand and up his arm. He pulled, figuring it was some sort of contact venom, but it held with surprising strength.

“Now I’ve got you… you’re mine now to do what I want,” she cooed as she strode forward, reeling him in. He retreated despite the pull, then without looking, he stepped off into the hole in the yew, his eyes went wide as he started to fall backward. He looked at her, she had tried to brace herself to try and pull both of them to safety, but surprise and his weight caught her off guard. He looked with dismay as the goo unwrapped around his arm, as he fell into the darkness. He had been so surprised he forgot to curse.