━━ ,∙˚✧ o1. the lands of wonderland.
???, 1985.

TOUGH FEET MOVED barefoot across trails of sand sprinkled on the grey grass, and no wind moved across the clearing yet there was a chill that drove its way into vein and bone. There were particles like ash which floated in the air. The earth seemed to groan and breathe on its own.

          The girl walked like a dancer, each step posed with purposed grace, calculated and soft. Her body was strung upright in the gentle elegance of a puppet on strings. The bones in her shoulders were drawn back, chin tilted upwards ever-so-slightly. Her toes posed in the sand—spread lightly, ready to spring her away from any danger that might come after her. It was a natural thing which she didn't even have to think about doing anymore.

          Alice was not afraid anymore. When she'd first arrived in this dark, lonely place, she had been. But it was much better than the world she had come from, where everything was cruel, and she only knew pain. Here, was the outdoors she'd read about, the trees that were painted in storybooks, the monsters from fairytales, a sky.

          Wonderland—that's what she'd called it—because she'd been a child when she'd first stumbled upon this mirror world of magic and monsters and adventure, like the fantastical books that used to be read to her, and it filled her with wonder, and she'd not been a particularly eloquent child. So, Wonderland it had become, and Wonderland it would remain, because there was nothing else in this place capable of giving it a name.

          Wonderland changed like magic sometimes. One day scaffolding hanging with slime had appeared, on the brink of destruction, and something called Starcourt Mall had been constructed out of brick and slime and stood broken down in the centre of town. Only a few months later, it was gone again, reduced to rubble. The demolished remains were a breeding ground for the lithe, faster monsters, and Alice knew not to go there without necessity. They would tear her apart if they so much heard a sound from her. But Wonderland was inconsistent, erratic changing was normal to her, though equally unexpected at each occurrence. She wondered what made this world do such a thing.

          Webs of coiling slime and mucus broke beneath her bare toes. Alice spoke to herself as she walked. If she didn't, who else would she have to talk to? The monsters? She'd salvaged a weapon from shards of glass and a crowbar and some glue, which shone as a cruel long thing in the moonless night. When Alice had been raised, she was read to sometimes by some of the kinder doctors, who didn't pull her so hard when they strapped her into the chair. She'd learnt once about space, a far-off thing that didn't make much sense in the eyes of a child, but seemed like a magical place that people could fly to if only they had wings. The library had books, and Alice had read up on it extensively. She wondered if this Wonderland she was trapped in had a space that she could travel to. She would remain wondering—no amounts of books could teach her how to build a rocket ship.

          Alice loved to read. It was something she enjoyed learning in the Cold Place, and even here in Wonderland she hadn't given it up. She'd taken what she'd known and had taught herself more. She still slept with a dictionary every night, repeating all the words she loved and memorising new ones. Over the years, she'd read nearly every book in the Hawkins library, both fiction and non-fiction—so much so that she'd started re-reading some of her absolute favourites. She carried them around everywhere with her, so that even if she got stuck with a monster outside her hiding place she could at least pull out a book and read.

          "It's quiet tonight," she said to herself as if she was narrating a storybook, "nearly no monsters. But it's getting cold again. I'll have to find some shelter soon." Alice had tried to not be so lonely before. She'd found a baby monster once, and had raised it. It was a nice feeling, until it turned big enough to realise it could eat her. That part hadn't been so fun. Since then, she'd realised that nothing in Wonderland was kind, and it all wanted her dead. She could live with that, she supposed. She didn't really need any company other than the cold air and her novels. Somehow, they were enough. Alice had never had love in the Cold Place, she didn't expect any to find her anytime soon. "I'm making good time. Only approximately a half-hour before I reach Spot 27 and can settle down," she calculated, based on the landmarks she was passing. Her voice was no more than a delicate whisper—she did not want to attract any unwanted guests. But it helped to speak to herself. She'd read stories about people who had lost their minds from being alone too long—Alice had decided she was never going to be that person. "The sky is pretty," she observed, voice a delicate mixture of soft and rising chords, and Alice wished she had a talent for painting, so she could capture it on a page like in the history books of art. Tonight, it was blooming in a gentle wash of navy and orange. The air particles which moved above her gave the illusion of what Alice thought an ocean might look like. It was rare that there were truly pretty things in Wonderland. The sky was one of them.

          Alice marched onwards. Her hair was cropped messily around her shoulders. A monster had grasped her by it, once. She would not let it do that again. As if reliving the memory, her fingers moved up to graze the skin from her breast to collarbone, where an unsightly scar unfolding like a rupture in reality had wormed its way against her skin.

          The girl followed the trail of sand she'd laid out over the years. It helped to quiet the sound of her bare footfall and was a safety net to remind her of where to go if she got disorientated or had been struck on the head. Alice really had thought of everything. Monsters did not like to stay in one place for very long. Alice's route consisted of buildings in a winding, tangled path all across the small town, so she could avoid the monsters' roaming paths. It had been developed over all the years she'd grown up here, and Alice had polished it nearly to perfection. She changed it up every few loops for more variety.

          If Alice wished, she could have slipped through a surface which shone her reflection and travelled right back to the Cold Place where she'd come from. But she did not want to return to that world of experiments and horrible cruelty. At least here, in this terrible, mystical Wonderland, she could be free. She was not a thing, she was a person. She would never let herself be a thing again. That world was not for her.

          So, Alice always pushed onwards, always on the run from something or the other, never staying in one spot too long to call a house her home: that would have ended in disaster. "Today was good," she murmured, because it was, she'd found a double bounty of harvestable fruit that would last her weeks. "Maybe tomorrow will be better," but that was never true. "At least I'm still living," she said, and ran her finger over the scars of gashes on her wrist.

          She recognised the street she was on, and made her way against the walls to the house which was her destination tonight. Over the years, Alice had stockpiled items in every house in case of an emergency. Some blankets and some weapons were all she needed—and they were all there: tucked away in shelves and beneath countertops or bedframes. That way if she ever got stuck, she wouldn't be without a plan B, or C, or D. Her system was strangely efficient, almost perfect in every way. And she hadn't died yet, had she?

          The house which was Spot 27 loomed between two taller homes and was crammed in at all sides. It was the perfect kind of place where there was only one entrance for a monster to appear through—and it was much easier for Alice to escape through that one entrance than if a house was surrounded on all four sides by beasts. Strategically, for a house in the centre of town, it was brilliant. Alice climbed through the dusty window and latched it behind her, scanning the house briefly for any lurking monsters. Some liked to hide in cupboards, waiting until she walked past, so they could eat her alive. Others liked to wait until their victim fell asleep. When she'd classified the house as safe and nothing had killed her yet, Alice moved into the bedroom she'd stayed in hundreds of times as she'd grown up. It was small and bare and ugly, but it was safe. There was only a single window, and she'd boarded that up long ago.

          Lowering herself to the floor, she brushed her teeth with some of the supplies she had in her pack, sparing only the teensiest bit of her collected water. Alice's stomach rumbled, and she decided to go hungry.

          The girl crawled beneath the double-bed pushed against a far wall. Her back settled on the rotten flooring and she pressed herself against the wall as tight as she could. In this way, she was able to look at all corners of the room. The bed frame above her was littered with slime and cracks, and a deep, wet mould that ran across its length. It was disgusting, but Alice was used to such things. She scraped some of the gooey strands out of her hair, smoothing it out as best as she could. She would check if there was any collected water when she woke.

          Laying in silence, Alice drew A Clockwork Orange from her pack in the dim light, read it with her arms pressed against her chest, until she fell asleep curled in a ball beneath a rotting bed in the place she called Wonderland.

━━ ,∙˚✧

sorry if it's a bit boring atm, i really need to establish alice's life & there's not really anything interesting for her to be doing anyway. and yes, this book is back up! bc i really love the story i have planned and i decided whatever i may as well just continue it. also alice is my darling and i love her sm.

word count: 1,818 (ik it's short, sorry)

22.08.2019.