“Was I sleeping again?” said a bewildered voice as she adjusted the stiff muscles from her desk. She looked around the classroom. There was not one familiar face.
“Mmm, miss Alice… it’s 4th hour, you started my class in the 1st hour. It seems to me that you need to get more sleep at home.”
“Umm, yes ma’am” said an embarrassed Alice and she scrambled out of the classroom carrying all her belongings.”
“Hurry Alice! Or you’ll be late for the next class.”She heard the teacher yell.
She didn’t bother going to 5th hour class, instead she ran home as fast as she could, past the queen’s statue, past the exquisite gardens, past the tree with a hole in it, past the garden walls, past her still iron gate, right up to her plantation home, and directly into her exquisite parlor where her dad sat concentrated on the couch amongst spread out papers and a type writer. He looked at her with one eyebrow up, as the grandfather clock chimed noon: “Alice,” he said “why are you home? Are you ill?”
“Oh father,” Alice fell into her dad’s arms. It was a safe place, safe enough for her to cry. As the tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks, her father adjusted her chin towards his restrained water filled with eyes. In the most sincere voice; and unshaken by his crumbled work that sat below his daughters pleading knees he asked,
“Did it happen again Alice?”
“It did” she said, and she cried knowing her dad had been right. Something WAS wrong, maybe she didn’t need friends or freedom. Maybe staying at home and acquiring a Tudor for her lessons was her only option. Maybe her dad was right. She wondered what her mother would have thought, certainly she would know more about sleeping. After all she was told she rested below the surface 2 days after Alice was born. It was quite odd for Alice to think of her this way.
Suddenly, a yawn swept over her face and her eyes fell like weights. The limbs of her body turned to dough and just before falling to sleep she remembered her father saying, “I wonder where her mind goes to when she sleeps… I wonder what lands does she dream..: I wonder I wonder I wonder, oh my dear Alice, how I wonder”
He carried her to her bed where she awoke amongst her dreams to follow a very late rabbit down a hole in that tree in her yard. She slept for 3 days falling from large to small, watching a caterpillar on a leaf smoking a hookah, joining a mad hatter’s tea party and meeting a tyrannical queen who had a knack for card tricks.
When she awoke, she wrote a book in between her home lessons, waves of sleep, and the loving arms of her father.
She called that book Alice in Wonderland
And whether it was a true story or not, it is in fact true that the story was Alice’s account of her life. Where she lay somewhere between the present and the wake of her dreams.
Somewhere in a sleep paralysis world, unfixed by her dilemma, she indeed wrote that book and it has been my favorite book ever since. After all, dreams come and go whether we are awake to acknowledge them or sleeping to remember them, there is one thing for certain… dreams are only relevant to the living.
And that book lives on and breathed life into my soul over a hundred years later, saying, “Do Not be afraid to dream.”
(Disclaimer: This story claims Alice was a victim of sleep paralysis and is not an a definitive parallel account of the actual author Lewis Carroll’s book. None the less, it is a true charm in history and made for a very fun writing prompt. Thanks for reading.)
I was awake, how? No pain. No coma. I thought I was dying?
I look out into a sea of green grass. I feel the warm sun and I slightly arch my back to let the warmth fall up my skin. I feel fed, but how?
No UV lighting. The sun as my nourishment No monitors. I must be free.
It’s hard to describe what I smell… the pure aroma of existence, and something else - flowers?
I can hear my mom sobbing
“Mom mom! It’s me”
I try to tell her “it’s okay.” But her weeping grows heavier.
“She can’t hear you” says a voice that creeps into my mind.
Telepathy?
“Not telepathy” says the voice.
“Can you hear my thoughts?” I ask.
“Yes”
I’m suddenly fearful to think. Am I dead? Oh God I must be dead.
“You’re not dead,” says the voice “you’re transformed”
“Transformed?”
“What was your name?”
“Was?”
“What did your mother call you?”
The voice is soothing and I can’t help but feel at peace, somehow?
“Abigail” I say
“Abigail, my sweet Abigail.”
I try to turn around and look but it’s impossible.
“Lean towards the sun” says the voice.
“I do and empowerment sweeps my body, movement, upright posture, contentment, body stretching, I feel alive… and then OUCH!
Sharp! What was that?
“Sorry” says the voice. “It was my thorns, you have them too.”
“What do you mean?”
A wind blows and I feel the reliance of nature.
I feel pedals blossoming in the christening sun, the air slides across my skin and I recognize the aroma. Roses?
“Yes. Roses”
Says the voice.
Roses are my favorite flower.
“I know. Mine too” says the voice.
“Who are you?” I ask suddenly aware of how connected we are.
“Your grandmother. Rooted in time and space. Relativity.”
“My grandmother is dead.”
“No I’m not. And you aren’t either. We’re just different.”
Through the ground I feel a circular patterned being traced near my feet followed by a loving tap, just like my grandmother used to do.”
“We’re in a flower pot” says grandmother And I am starting to comprehend this peculiar yes comforting phenomenon
Just then my mother picks me up in her arms and I’m aware of how big she is now.
She puts her face over the top of me and sniffs.
“Roses” she says.
“Abigail loved roses. My mom did too. I will plant this for them in my garden and talk with them everyday”
And she did
Grandmother and I were planted in a garden at my home, loved by my mother, grandmother’s daughter….
In a heavenly place where roots tie you back to your loved ones.
WILL SOMEONE SHUT THAT BABY UP?!
I only think this. I don’t say it of course - hence the capitalization- just to be clear.
I’m too much of a wimp to say that out loud and at the airline there’s a lot of crying babies and too many chances for wide eyes pa’s to take their frustrations out on me. I’m just the attendant, my salary isn’t high enough for any of that.
Instead I say, “Ma’am would you like a quieter section?” - SO YOU CAN SHUT THAT BABY UP?
Don’t forget..
Capitalization = thoughts “Quotations” = dialogue.
I’m really a nice person in person. I’ve won many monthly employee awards on customer service alone.
The lady smiles and her husband does too. “Yes, thank you. We have been trying to find a quiet space all afternoon.” NOT HARD ENOUGH.
“My pleasure follow that gentleman there”
They walk away with the gentleman that I immediately decide must be new. Big smile? Eager face? Chatting way too much and laughing like a proud donkey in a corn field.
“Hee Haw. Hee Haw. Ha-“ “Dave?” says a familiar voice right behind me. “Huh? Oh hey Larry. I was just talking to myself” Larry’s new too.
“Okay Dave, umm soo what’s the status today?”
“Well we had an extremely irritable baby earlier at our 1 o clock
At our 3 a business man and his mistress
7 is a hungover bachelorette group… tell the airplanes to double the puke bags.
And pretty sure the guy at our nine just picked a booger and put it under his seat. Oh nevermind, he just ate it”
“Dave, I was talking about the flight statuses.”
“Oh they are just fine clear skies I’m sure, let me pull it up on the map… oh wait. I no. never mind. Rough skies, hurricanes actually. And possible breakout tornados..cancellations for the the rest of the week… one sec Dave.”
I WONDER IF ITS 12 YET.
“Attention all passengers. Flights have been delayed due to inclement weather and will be canceled the rest of this week. We are so very sorry for the delay. Please make your way to our customer service desk to make alternate provisions for your week ahead.”
OH LOOK ITS 12
I look up as a massive of angry civilians head to the desk and start shouting in at least 7 different languages.
I DONT CONTROL THE WEATHER PEOPLE. AND I CERTAINLY DONT GET PAID ENOUGH.
I smile at the mob who would be more fittingly carrying pitch forks and axes.
“We’ll Dave - 12:01, I say I’m off. Take it easy.”
I don’t look back at his overwhelming face. I know Dave I know. He’ll learn
Just another day in the life of an airline, I wonder what I’m having for lunch.
She nagged that ghastly nag to her beloved husband from the time the door opened after returning from work to the time the clock struck midnight and the lights departed to sleep for one last time that night.
He was the unsung hero at his work and oh how she loathed his dutiful choices and accolades, so much so that the entire relationship was on the brink of inevitable collapse. One more choice to choose something over her and the last 7 years would disintegrate in the shambles they stood on. She loved him, oh yes she did, and that is why on March 4th 1985 she conspired a plan to make what was wrong right, even if she had to do it wrong herself. Yes, he was the unsung hero.. and if she needed to be a villain so be it. Even villains have hearts, right?
The next day at work, As he doddled his fingers and slammed his fist on the table in reference to the over load of work responsibilities weighing on him. His brow dropped with sweat pleading to stop the cause of bullying and internal struggle the school had. He thought about his wife to but only for a fleeting moment. He had too much to do, too much to fix, too much to save.
And as he thought about such heroic acts, his wife sat at home holding a wedding picture cried one final tear for his the lack of love she so longingly pleaded for, tried to wonder why the world needed saving but not her home… tried to make sense and then with a reassuring nod she smirk, she picked up the phone. For She knew the answer, she would always be last to her number 1.
“Yes,” she said to the person who answered. “I’d like to report an employee at your work for previous offenses ommitted from his resume upon hire… yes… yes… uhh anonymous please. Thank you.”
She hung the phone up and let out a deep breath and the stress turned into a diabolical laughter. Maybe just maybe she’d get more time with him. Maybe, she’d tell him after they went off in the sunset hand and hand rekindling a fire that once ignited their souls so wholesomely, nahh. She knew that wasn’t true. She’d never tell.
