NaNoWriMo Project- Curiouser and Curiouser (Chapter 1)

Konichiwa!  I'm just doing a quick post this time, but I'm kind of at a standstill for my part in our NaNoWriMo project, so I need something to do.  I've mentioned before that the Creative Writing Club at my school is doing a group novel for NaNoWriMo, or trying at least, but I haven't really said what we're doing yet.  Well, I'm a big fan of Lewis Carrol's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, as well as their various spinoffs and such, so one day I found myself thinking," What if Alice has been a boy all this time?"  And from there a story grew.  Basically, the main character, Alice Liddell, is a boy who has been forced to cross-dress his whole life due to some extreme family issues and this has created a deep-seated hatred of women in him.  He also hates his father because he believes that he is the cause of all of his troubles.  All of the animals in the story are humans and most of the characters have been gender bent.  I'm letting you guys read the unedited version of chapter one which I wrote.  Each chapter is from a different character's perspective and I have Alice and the Mad Hatter, but the Hatter has very few chapters.  We're currently calling our novel Curiouser and Curiouser.  I hope you enjoy!


- Turtle-chan


P.S. All of the parts that are highlighted are where the characters' names should be, but no one has told me what they're calling their characters yet, so it's incomplete.  We're having trouble communicating, it would seem.

Alice

                I’m falling.  I can’t see a thing, but I have that fluttering-sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that you get when you’re scared and I can feel the wind whipping through my hair and making my nightgown billow around me like a parachute.  I can’t tell how long I’ve been falling, but it seems like forever.  After a while, I can see a tiny pinpoint of light ahead of me.  The spot of light rapidly grows larger as I hurtle toward it.  I’m coming in too fast and I start to flail, striking out at the empty air around me in the vain hope that I will be able to stop myself in time.  I know I’m going to die, even as the light becomes blinding and I claw out in front of me.

                And then I’m on the hard floor of my bedroom, my nose crushed against the cold wood.  I wince as I push myself up into a sitting position and rub my bruised nose.  I feel a warmth trickling down my face and a drop of red liquid splashes onto the floor in front of me.  I refrain from cursing aloud as I search for my handkerchief.

                I find the thing, a lacey white piece of fabric with the initials A.L. embroidered into it in pale blue thread.  I have to admit that it is some of my better work.  With a twinge of mild regret, I press the fabric to my nose and in the mirror I can see the white fabric turning red.

                In the mirror, a pair of clear blue eyes stares out at me.  Above the eyes is a head of long blonde hair hanging loose, so pale it looks like flaxen gold.  Below that is a thin and somewhat prominent nose as well as thick blunt lips.  Taking in the body as a whole, the figure is tall and lean with broad shoulders and a squared jaw.  It’s hard to believe that I’m looking at myself.

                I disgust myself.  Looking in mirrors never fails to make me realize how unnatural I am.  Here I stand, dressed in these frilly feminine clothes, a man.

                It’s not by my choice, of course.  My mother really ought be admitted into an asylum, but the wretches are so abused there that it would be more of a cruelty than a kindness to send her away.  Since before I was born, she has been convinced that I am a girl.

                My father had been a soldier, a survivor or the War.  He was sent home with shellshock when he was no longer able to fight.  After a while, I was conceived and my father was overjoyed.  He wanted to have another pretty littler daughter and he and my mother decided to name this mythical daughter Alice.  Shortly before I was born, however, my father hanged himself.  The stress and the shellshock finally overpowered him and his weak will.  My mother was the one that found him.  From what my sisters tell me, she has never been the same since then.  After I was born, she named me Alice and has been convinced that I am female, despite the overpowering evidence to the contrary when I am in my, uh, natural state.

                Nineteen years later, here I am: a grown man still wearing the girl’s clothing his mother and sisters have put him in for his entire lifetime.  Before I was in school, I believed it was natural.  I even believed that I really was a girl until…  No, that is something I must never remember.

                Feeling a sharp stab of anger, I dig through the drawers in my wardrobe.  My hand finally closes around something small and cold.  I pull it out and gaze at the pocket watch in my hand.  It is the only item I possess that I could ever be proud of.  Unfortunately, it was my no-good father’s.  He is the reason for all that I have suffered, all the indignities and abuses.  In anger, I slam it down on the window sill and whirl around.

                For the thousandth time, I tell myself that today is the day that I finally stand up to my family, the day that I stop being their little girl and start being a man.  I get the scissors out of my embroidery basket and stand in front of the mirror once again.  I pull a lock of my long, flaxen hair forward, steel myself, and snip.

                Strands of pale hair float to the floor and land at my feet.  I grin with relief and wonder and repeat the process until all of my hair is cut into an uneven fringe that reaches a little past my shoulders.  There’s a pile of soft blonde locks at my feet and I gather it up and throw it in the waste bin.  I replace the scissors and turn around to retrieve the pocket watch only to find it gone.

                I run to the window and fling it open with the curtains billowing in the breeze.  I lean outside and see a small white figure standing on the ground beneath my room.  It raises up a hand and points at something small and silver.  My pocket watch!  The white figure takes off running and pauses at the edge of the garden, looking back up at me.  It stands there for a few moments before taking off again and, without thinking, I climb out of the window and run after it.

                The little fiend is nimble and quick, but my legs are longer and I steadily close the distance between us.  As I approach, I notice that the thief appears to be a young girl.  Her hair is so fair that it almost appears to be white and it streams out behind her as she runs.  I can hear her high-pitched giggling as I pursue her, and little shouts intended to incense me.

                “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late!” she shouts, glancing back at me and holding up the pocket watch.  Her skin is ghostly pale and for a moment I imagine that her eyes are red, even though I know that is impossible.

                “Damn you!” I bellow, enjoying the surge of adrenaline I get from saying the forbidden word.

                The little girl seems to be slowing down, so I start running faster, pumping my arms and legs harder as I fight against the constrictive nightgown.  My lungs are burning and my muscles ache, but I feel better than I ever have before, somehow.  I feel more alive.

                I don’t notice when the girl stops running, however, and I bowl into her  That is, I thought I was going to bowl into her, but she jumps out of the way at the last second and I trip over the hem of my nightgown.

                As I lay on my back, momentarily disoriented, the little girl stands over me and giggles.  I notice that her eyes actually are red and I find it strange and unnerving.

                “You’re pretty clumsy, aren’t you?  Well, I bet you can get better.  That’s what Granny (Caterpillar) told me,” she says, grinning and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

                I push myself up onto an elbow and look up at her.  “I just want to get my pocket watch back, please.  I need to go back home and to bed,” I tell her, using the most polite voice I can manage.

                She pushes her hands behind her back and shakes her head, smiling.  “Nope.  You have to come and get it, mister,” she says.  “Come and catch me!”

                When I try to get up and follow her, she’s gone and I look around in confusion.  I’m about to turn back and go home when I feel myself being pushed by a pair of small hands.  Then, I’m falling just like in my dream.  The hole I fell through is already a tiny pinpoint and there is a second tiny speck of light below me that never seems to change in size.  My newly shorn tresses whip around my face and my nightgown stretches taught around my body.

                I keep falling and falling and it feels like I’ll never stop.  At this point, I’ve even stopped feeling afraid.  Actually, I feel like I’m floating and the wind seems to be curling around me, cradling me.  The sensation is soothing and I drift off to sleep.

҉ ҉ ҉

                When I wake back up again, I’m lying on my back and staring up into the sky.  There are white, fluffy clouds, actually in the shape of sheep, floating by overhead.  The sun shines down gaily and I feel pleasantly warm and comfortable.  I give a lazy stretch before sitting up in the grass.  I’m trying to orient myself when I hear someone’s voice.

                “Welcome back, Alice,” the voice says.  It is a somewhat shaky woman’s voice and I turn around to see an old, withered woman sitting in a rocking chair and knitting something with gauzy blue-grey wool.  Her hair is blue and cut into a short pile of fluff that sits atop her head like cotton candy at the fair.  Her eyes are also blue, but they are a milky blue, like those of the blind man I once met in the streets as a child.

                “How do you know my name?” I ask warily.

                The old woman chuckles and keeps on knitting.  The steady clicking of her needles is both soothing and unnerving at once.  “Alice, dear, we all remember you here.  Even those of us who are too young to have met you the first time have heard the legends.  Why, last time I saw you, you were just this tall and wearing that ridiculous frilly dress your mother put you in,” she responds, holding a wrinkled hand up a little higher than the arm of the rocking chair.

                “What do you mean? I don’t even know where I am, but I need to get back home,” I moan, feeling a lump of panic rising in my throat.

                “Hush now, child,” the woman clucks.  “That whining isn’t becoming of you.  You’re a grown boy now, aren’t you?  You’ll remember everything as long as you’re patient.”

                I sigh.  Patience has never been my strong suit.  “Well, can you at least tell me how to get home from here?” I ask her impatiently.

                “Oh, you’ll have to visit the Hatter, of course.  She may not help you, though.  Not after what happened last time,” the woman tells me.  I ignore what she warned me of since I’ve obviously never been here before and she’s mistaken me for someone else.  Besides, I am confident that I will be able to use her aid briefly and then be done with her.  Women are weak, worthless creatures anyway.

                “Thank you, ma’am,” I say, trying to mask my disgust.  “I’ll be going now.”  I stand up and look around for an exit but see no sign of one.

                “Now, now, Alice.  You should know better than that.  Don’t you remember the way out?” the old woman chuckles, staring unseeingly in my direction.

                “Of course not!  I’ve never been here before!” I snap, not having time to check my tongue.

                “Alice!” she exclaims.  “That was entirely uncalled for!  Now, come closer and let me see you.  I’m sure you’re too big to fit through the gate.”

                “Um, let you see me?” I ask, not sure how to point out to her that blind people can’t see.

                She chuckles—well, cackles, really.  “I don’t see like you do, dear.  I see with my hands.  Now, come let me see you.  It’s hard for these old bones to get moving.”

I tentatively walk over to her and stand by the arm of her rocking chair.  She sets her knitting in her lap in a huge mass of blue-grey fuzz.  She reaches as high as she can and her hand lands on my chest.  I flinch and have to force myself to hold still as her withered fingertips make their way across my abdomen and arms.

                “I can’t see your face.  Be a dear and bend down for me, will you?” she requests.

                I oblige reluctantly and she repeats the process, moving her fingers quickly over my face and through my hair.  She clucks with amusement and disapproval when she sees the jagged edges of my new haircut.  “The Hatter will have to see to that,” she mutters to herself.

                Then she turns back to her knitting and I straighten and back away from her.  “Just as I thought.  You’ve gotten so big, Alice.  You’ll never fit through the gate like this, and you’ll get lost.  I’m sending (Rabbit) with you.  (Rabbit)! “ she calls and the little girl with pink eyes that took my pocket watch comes bounding out from behind a bright purple bush.

                “Yes, Granny (Caterpillar),” the little girl says, coming to a stop at the arm of the chair and staring at me with her strange red eyes.

                “(Rabbit), darling.  Would you take Alice to go see the Mad Hatter?” the old woman requests.

                The little girl’s face lights up.  “Yes!” she exclaims, running toward me.  She grabs my arm and starts pulling.  “Let’s go, Alice!”

                “Now wait a second.  You and Alice are too big to get through that little gate.  I have some of the candies our Queen so kindly made for us.  Take them with you and help Alice remember how to use them,” she laughs, holding out what looks like a handful of hard peppermints.

                The little girl bounces over and takes them from the old woman.  “Alright, we’ll be going now!” she declares, starting to drag me off again.

                “Wait, you need to take your brother with you.  (Dormouse)!  (Dormouse)!  Wake up!  I need you to help your sister and Alice,’ the old woman calls, putting down her knitting and cupping a hand to her mouth.

                A little boy no more than four years old comes stumbling out of a blue bush.  He has sleepy eyes and his short brown hair is mussed and has multihued twigs and branches stuck in it.  He rubs his eyes and yawns, looking disoriented as he searches for the old woman.  “Yes, Granny (Caterpillar)?” he asks finally, trying to stifle a yawn.

                “(Dormouse), I need you to go with your sister to take Alice to see the Hatter.  Do you think you can do that for me, sweet?” the old woman says to him in a slow, patient tone.

                The little boy nods solemnly and rubs his eyes again.  He walks over and stands behind the girl, peeking shyly out at me.  I’m not really a big fan of kids, but I have to admit that he’s cute and he’s starting to grow on me.  It seems as if he too is a little man being forced to grow up in a woman’s world.

                “Alright, well I suppose that’s that.  Make sure you take him straight there, you two.  And don’t get yourselves lost in the forest.  You know what happened last time,” the old woman warns.

                “We know, we know!  Can we just go now? Please, please, please?” the little girl pleads, literally hopping in circles around me and the little boy.

                “Yes, you may.  Just be careful.  Alice isn’t like us,” the old woman sighs.

                “Yay!  Let’s go, Alice!” she exclaims, taking my hand and pulling me.  I flinch away from her touch, but she doesn’t let go and the little boy takes my other hand, so they’re both pulling me along.

                I get dragged out into the middle of the garden before the little girl stops suddenly.   “Oh, I almost forgot!  Here, Alice.  Suck on this for five seconds and then spit it back out, okay?” she says, handing me one of the things that I thought looked like peppermint candies.

                I look at the thing and, assuming it’s safe to eat since the two kids have also eaten theirs, I pop it into my mouth after unwrapping it.  I want to immediately spit it back out because of the taste.  It’s something I cannot describe, a taste unlike any other.  There’s something of the bitterness of medicine to it, but there’s also a queer saccharine sweetness as well.  It tastes a little like the smell of freshly turned earth, but also kind of like London smog in the summer.  The overall experience is unpleasant in the extreme and I spit the foul thing out into the wrapper as soon as possible, coughing and grimacing.

                “What was that?” I gasp, willing the taste out of my mouth unsuccessfully.

                “We call them shrinking sweets,” says a quiet voice at my side.  I look down and see the little boy staring down at my feet, wringing his hands nervously.

                “Why would you call them shrinking sweets?  Is it because they shrink in your mouth as you suck on them?” I ask him.

                “Um, because they make you shrink, I guess,” he says quietly, yawning again.

                “No it didn’t.  We’re still the same size as…  Oh,” I say as I finally notice the tall forest of that strange prism-like grass surrounding us.  I also notice that something—or rather, someone—is missing.  “Hey, kid.  Where did the other kid go?”

                “To catch a ride,” he answers simply.

                We wait in silence for a while and I notice that the dirt is a vibrant shade of pink.  Curious. The kid seems to have dozed off standing up and I think about sitting down, but I’m still wearing my frilly nightgown and it’s hard to sit in a dress.  Everything seems too quiet and still until I hear a rustling noise accompanied by shouts of, “Alice!  Alice!  Aaaalliiiiiiiiiccceee!”

                I jerk to attention and look into the grass, preparing myself for the worst.  If it comes down to it, I can easily be outrun and the kid is a liability, so I’m not sure what I can do.  I could hide, but for how long?  I don’t have any real options left to me, so I decide just to wing it if it comes down to it.  At that moment, a giant green beast comes charging out of the grass and comes to a stop right in front of us.  The kid wakes up and we both stare up at the creature.

                It is huge, with four legs as big as tree trunks.  Its body is long and somewhat oval shaped.  Its wings close over its body in long emerald sheaths.  Its head is shaped like a triangle and it has two bulging red eyes that stare down at us.  At the front of its body are two long legs that fold to look like hands in prayer but they’re lined with sharp spikes.  It is also wearing a short black top hat.  The little girl peeps down at us from the top of the creature’s head, grinning and waving.  I let out a sigh of relief.

                “Come on, slowpokes!  Mr. Mantis is going to take us to the gate!  Climb on!” she shouts.

                The little boy goes first, struggling to wrap his arms around the praying mantis’s legs.  The mantis seems to notice because he bends his body down to the ground.  The kid still struggles to get on, however, so I have to pick him up and give him a boost before scrambling up behind him.  The little boy and I sit on the mantis’s back and the girl sits near his head.

                “You can go now, Mr. Mantis,” she tells him.

                The mantis starts to walk in a steady, shuffling gait that jostles the little boy and I.  Even so, he manages to curl up and fall asleep once again.  I’m beginning to wonder if all he ever does is sleep.  The little girl is above us and I can hear her chattering away to the praying mantis in that overly cheerful voice of hers.  Of all the females I’ve ever had the misfortune of interacting with, I think she’s the most obnoxious.

                We come to a stop in a small clearing.  In front of us is a looming gate.  It is arched at the top and comprised of bars made of some sort of pearlescent material.  The light creates waves and ripples of color up and down the gate’s structure.  In the middle of the gate is a large padlock and I wonder how we’re going to open it.  The old woman never gave us a key.

                The little girl shimmies down the praying mantis’s legs as nimble as any monkey and runs to the gate before the mantis even has time to finish lowering himself to the ground to allow the boy and I to dismount.

                “Hurry up!” the little girl shouts as I’m trying to get to the ground with the sleeping boy slung over my shoulder.

                “I’m working on it,” I tell her somewhat irritably.  The kid is heavier than I had anticipated and since I was raised as a woman, I’ve never done much physical exercise and my arms are weak.

                “Oh, forget (Dormouse), Alice!  Just hurry over here!  You have the key!” she exclaims, hopping and dancing around in front of the gate.

                I don’t know what she’s talking about and it kind of annoys me that she would suggest just leaving her brother behind, so I continue to move at the pace that she seems to consider to be too slow, just to annoy her.  For some reason, I feel obligated to thank Mr. Mantis for his services and he responds with a nod of the head and a tip of his hat.  It almost looks as though he is smiling at me.  As he walks off, I notice that I appear to have succeeded in irritating the little girl because she’s standing with crossed arms and tapping her foot, looking angry when I reach her.

                “You’re mean, Alice,” she informs me.  “Now you have to find the key by yourself.  I’m not helping.

                “Well, then we’re not getting through the gate because I don’t have the key,” I respond, shifting the little boy onto my back.

                “It’s around your neck,” he mumbles quietly before giving a yawn and falling asleep again.

                “That’s cheating!” the little girl screeches indignantly, stomping her foot.

                I ignore her and free up one hand to feel around my neck and sure enough, there’s a black ribbon tied there.  I lift the ribbon up over my head and see a small gold key hanging in the middle of the loop.  In wonder, I touch it and see that it’s actually real and I’m not just imagining it before going to try it in the lock.  Immediately, the lock springs open and the gates swing outward.

                I gaze out into the land past the gate, but all I can see are looming objects, taller than trees, through the darkness and the damp gray fog that seems to be seeping into my bones.  I shiver and pull the key out of the lock, putting the ribbon back around my neck.  I shift the little boy on my back to better distribute his weight ad glance toward the little girl.

                “Shall we, then?” I say, noticing that she too seems tense and nervous.

                She nods timidly and for once is silent.  I try to enjoy it instead of tormenting myself with wondering what her silence could mean and what she finds so menacing as I pass through the gates and hear them swing shut and locked behind us.  Whatever is going to happen will happen from here on out.  It has begun.