A little piece I once thought lost but recently rediscovered, I wrote this in 2008 after seeing the Victorian Opera’s Through the Looking Glass – though, truth be told, it also owes much to American McGee’s Alice.
Summary: An insight into Alice’s mind, an indeterminate amount of time after the events of the opera.
Inspiration: Victorian Opera’s Through the Looking Glass; American McGee’s Alice.
There’s an awful lot of white here. The floors, the bedclothes, the coats of all the people, even the jacket they sometimes strap me up in. Is white the only colour there is, or is it the absence of colour? I always seem to confuse the two.
The walls are also white . . . no, perhaps not “white” . . . beige, then . . . umber – yes, that’s a good word. Umber. Umber. Umbrage. Rage. Not-white. But the tablets they feed me are definitely white. They are very fond of white, indeed.
They are very fond of asking questions, too. Every day, so many questions. But they are not fond of answering my questions.
If I think hard enough, I can still remember Charles. He was wearing white that day. I wonder if he knows that we met behind the looking-glass? He was wearing white then, too.
I haven’t seen him since that day. Or . . . did I ever see him at all? Or has only the little girl in my memories who went for a boat ride with her sisters and friends seen him? Am I even that same person anymore?
They keep saying that my mind is lying to me, but surely I remember it correctly; I became a queen and found myself again, didn’t I?
Didn’t I . . . ?
Goodness . . . there’s an awful lot of white here.
- Current Mood: okay