Allison's Adventures in Wonderland: Prologue

Prologue

Some call me mad. Maybe I am, but not for the reasons they imagine. Yes, there was mercury in the endless making of hats. How do I even know that? Science doesn’t know that yet. Yes, there was a mindless parade of condescending gentry, enough to drive anyone insane. Yes, there were the long, sharp hat pins for the tender young ladies. Cushions. Call me cruel, sadistic, or diabolical and I’m likely to tip my hat to you and smirk; or thank you under my breath, it’s an art form you know, but don’t call me mad. For I assure you I’m perfectly sane. I did nothing without the forethought and precision of a surgeon; nothing without the contemplative reason of a philosopher. Nothing was left to chance. Unless one assigns these rational characteristics to the realm of madness, I have the right to bear the title of sobriety as does the magistrate, lawyer, or common seller of meat in the market place. Regardless, if it weren’t for her, none of this would be debatable. I would have finish out my days producing head coverings for gentlemen and gentlewomen, happily whistling to myself, oblivious to the goings on in the wider world, and go to my rest without a ripple. No, but she came into my life and changed it forever. How could it be otherwise? But I’m getting ahead of myself. To explain why people call me mad I must start from the beginning.

Locals tell me that she had been here many times before chancing upon my tea party. Chasing that damned Cheshire cat! The rabbit hole leading to my world has a strange effect on people it seems, and while I have never been to her world, I believe it exists, for she exists. It changes them in ways incompatible with what one would expect. She was quite the independent and mature young lady where she came from, but not here. How do I know this? yet mischievous, playful, and oh so curious. Such a tender girl too; don’t forget to mention, such a tender girl . . . be patient Widgie, be patient I’m getting to that. I used to call her Curious Allison until it began to annoy her. So now, she’s just Allison. Regardless of what I called her, the things we did will grace my memory, tantalize me, and bring me pleasure to the end of my days. That won’t be long now will it, Widgie, not long now. 

Ah, such a tender girl, soft, moist, succulent, but I’m getting ahead of myself again. Let me tell you how we met and what we did beginning that first day, for that’s what you’ve come to hear. It was years ago, or at least it was for me; long before I was brought here to this rat infested tower to rot until my execution. My crime? Botching the Queen’s crown. That’s right, a simple “clerical” error of sorts. How was I supposed to know that she meant “no lead” when her speech impediment made it sound like “no red”? Or maybe being distracted by Allison's head in my lap caused my ill-fated mental lapse. Regardless, it was a spectacular achievement of the hatter’s trade, and certainly the most astonishing head dress I’d ever made. Nevertheless, the Red Queen was not amused “Off with his head” . . . quiet Widgie . . . . Let me tell you, I can’t remember how many times I heard the Red Queen issue the imperative “Off with his head” before, but when it applies to one’s own person, it has a chilling effect on the blood. Now I await my execution hastily penning my memoirs for the curious. But I’ve digressed again . . . where was I . . . soft, moist, succulent . . . yes, Widgie, soft, moist and oooh so succulent . . . .   

I first met Allison at the tea party. That’s the best place to begin my narrative, not only because the beginning is always the best place to start, but because it’s as far back as I need to go in my tale. It’s as though I have no memory or significance before that day, none which makes any difference at least. Such was the effect she’s had on me. Don’t even think about it Widgie, no riddles . . . not now! Ok, she told me about carriages without horses to draw them Walter lookout! and metal transports which actually allowed people to fly. Fly! People can’t fly. Inconceivable! And they have the gall to call me mad! However, as my tale is about Allison’s adventures here with me, I’ll begin with that day, that wonder of days, when Allison happened upon my tea time.

Now Widgie, tell us all about Allison’s adventures here . . . .