Once upon a time, in a vast abyss, there was a dream. It was a small, insignificant
\ndream, so much that the other dreams inhabiting the void ignored it completely. Nobody
\nbothered to ask who dreamed it, or what it was.
\nThe tiny dream in question floated aimlessly in the corporeal darkness. It noticed as
\none by one, the other small dreams began to disappear, fading slowly from its vision, as if
\nthey were being brought farther and farther into some netherworld. Bigger dreams,
\nhowever, stayed there, levitating silently, surrounded by an aura of pompous pride and
\narrogance. This made the dream question the stability of its own existence.
\nI am but a vision of the night, it thought, an insubstantial wisp of desires and fears.
\nBut I don\u2019t want to disappear. How can I make people dream of me again and again? The
\nlittle dream drove itself deep into thought, and after what seemed like an eternity of
\nfloating in the black depths, surrounded by its disappearing brethren, found a solution to
\nits dangerous predicament.
\nI will make humans dream of me. I will let them create my world, and then\u2026 I will
\ntrap them within their own creation. An endless supply of dreamers\u2026 I\u2019ll never disappear.
\nAnd the dream did just that. It lured humans in with promises, and let their
\nmadness warp them until they became estranged, and after they perished, pulled another
\npoor fool into its trap. The once small dream became massive with the fantasies that it stole
\nfrom its victims, and then with the thoughts of others about itself. For the girl who\u2019d
\ncreated it, an imaginative child named Alice, had told a family friend about her strange
\nvision, and he had published a book about her and her dream. From the founder, the
\nvictims of this dream became known as Alices, but none of them were able to escape like
\ntheir predecessor. The tiny dream soon became the most famous of all.
\nIt was called Wonderland.<\/p>\n
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She walked among the rhododendrons, smiling as she breathed in the scent of roses and
\nfresh dew lacing the petals. The grass was moist beneath her bare feet, squelching with each
\ngentle step, giving way to the mud obscured underneath. The girl stroked a white rose, caressing
\nthe soft corolla, breathing in the fresh, sweet perfume that was released. She found herself
\nwishing that it was red.
\nAs she moved on to the part of the garden that held her favorite scarlet beauties, a
\nsudden rustling from the bushes caught her attention. The girl spun around, causing her white
\ndress to flare out around her, and narrowed her eyes at a patch of moving leaves. A pink, tender
\nnose poked out and sniffed, before coming forward and revealing a sleek white rabbit. She
\nrelaxed. The creature looked around for a moment, then locked its ruby eyes on her. It lifted its<\/p>\n
paw, and beckoned her to follow. The girl stared as the rabbit turned on its heel and bounced in
\nthe opposite direction. Smiling, she followed, not noticing that the white rose she had been
\nexamining earlier was being dyed a dark crimson from invisible droplets.
\nThe lacy hem of her dress trailed behind her as she ran through the forest, nimbly
\nleaping over roots and rocks. The crisp smell of wet earth and sap reached her nose. The girl
\ngrinned, and let out a whoop of joy as she sprang over a fallen birch. The white rabbit led the
\nway, trailing ever so slightly to let the child catch up with its long bounds. She didn\u2019t notice the
\nsmall cottage disappearing completely through the thicket.
\nJust then, the rabbit disappeared from sight, and the child slowed, smile dropping off her
\nface. She cautiously approached the spot where the rabbit had stood. A burrow was set into the
\nground, dark mouth gaping up at her. From it emerged a smell like overripe citrus, bitter and
\nrotten. The tunnel was small; it was too tiny for a mature adult, but just large enough for a
\npetite, slender girl. Gathering her courage and curiosity, she got down on her hands and knees
\nand crawled down the rabbit hole.
\nIt was too late to turn back, and the girl began to fall\u2026
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The screech of guitars and drums pierced through his headphones as he quietly slunk
\nthrough the halls, simultaneously avoiding eye contact with and touch, an impressive feat in the
\ncrowded corridor. The boy clutched the strap of his messenger bag tighter. He hated the smell of
\npeople: the scent of sweat and salty tears, the inescapable iron tang of blood, the vanillas and
\nroses and musk mingling together in a singular nauseating fume.
\nThree more years, the teen reminded himself. Only three more years. But after, that\u2026 To
\nbe honest, he didn\u2019t really know.
\nHe turned up the volume.
\nAs the boy reached his locker, he felt fingers tapping on his shoulder through his black
\nhoodie. Flinching away, he turned wide eyes and saw his lab partner grimacing.
\n\u201cI\u2019m so sorry, I forgot,\u201d he apologized profusely, fiddling with the band key chain
\nattached to his backpack. \u201cI-I was just, um, wondering if you have the bio notes from Li?\u201d
\nHe stared for a moment, before nodding, motioning for him to stay there. The boy spun
\nthe combination lock. Reaching into his locker and rummaging around, he finally pulled out a
\nsheet of lined paper crammed with diagrams and impeccable handwriting. Gratefully, the other
\nstudent took it and snapped a photo with his phone.
\n\u201cThanks,\u201d he smiled and waved, vanishing back into the mob. The teen nodded again.
\nThe scent of aloe and iron still lingered.<\/p>\n
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His pencil moved across the paper with a life of its own, alternating thick and thin lines
\nwith a close precision. Jagged lines were paired with thick smoke. An image emerged on the
\nsketchbook paper, twisted and frightening. Swiftly and carefully, his skilled hand created bars,
\nbleeding roses, a maniacal smile, wraiths reflected in a frightened eye. The pencil stopped. He
\nopened his eyes. Before him was an intricate drawing of the entrance to a prison cell, the inside<\/p>\n
shrouded with darkness. Bushes of rhododendrons surrounded the barred doorway, liquid
\npooling in the centers of the flowers and slowly dripping toward the ground, dropping onto a
\npath leading straight to the inside. Behind the cage, a feminine shadow stood clutching onto the
\nbars with one stained hand, tipping its head with defiance, an unhinged smirk plastered on its
\nface and a glistening sword in its hand. The boy shuddered.
\nFrowning, he flipped through the seventeen other disturbing images that inhabited the
\npages. A few weeks ago, he\u2019d found while closing his eyes, his hand had sketched a picture on
\nits own, without any prompting from its owner. The product was a young man with a mohawk,
\nsilver chains enveloping his wrists, black graphite tattoos running up his arms, and a rifle
\nclutched in his arms. His eyes were wide with fear; blood spurted like a fountain out of his
\nmouth, and piercing the middle of his chest was a clover shaped spear. The drawings usually
\nfollowed a pattern of depicting the dead, the dying, or the demented. The teen guessed this
\nnewest addition fell in the last category.
\nSuddenly, a chill ran down his spine. Quick as a whip, he stood up, tense and ready to
\nrun. Behind the yew tree he\u2019d been laying against a small white rabbit sat, staring at him with
\nruby eyes. The boy eyed it suspiciously. He, clutching his sketchbook protectively, stepped
\naround a decorative rock as he turned to leave. In a few leaps, the lagomorph skidded in front of
\nhim, cutting off his escape route. Its ruby eyes burned with what he could\u2019ve sworn was malice.
\nThe overwhelming scent of bitter grapefruit, nauseating, flooded his nose and mouth, and he
\ngagged. Frantically, the teen stumbled backwards, holding his hands tightly to his face. The hare
\nstood back on its back legs, its front paws pressing together in an imitation of a clap. Acrid citrus
\nswirled around them in almost a tangible tornado. The ground began to shake violently, knocking
\nthe boy off his feet. His head hammered down onto the large stone. An ear-splitting ring
\nresounding in his temple; he lay in a daze as the world began to go blurry. He watched in horror
\nas cracks began to appear in the previously pristine grass lawn, and a huge fissure appeared in
\nfront of the rabbit, spreading quickly and surely in his direction. When the seemingly bottomless
\npit finally reached him, he was nearly unconscious, still holding onto his sketchbook for dear
\nlife. The earth caved beneath him, and he tumbled into the endless abyss. Another Alice taking
\nthe trip down the rabbit hole\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Once upon a time, in a vast abyss, there was a dream. It was a small, insignificant dream, so much that the other dreams inhabiting the void ignored it completely. Nobody bothered to ask who dreamed it, or what it was. The tiny dream in question floated aimlessly in the corporeal darkness. It noticed as… <\/p>\n