Disclaimer : I own nothing of the odd and twisted plot of American McGee's Alice. I simply borrow.

Authors Note : Hope this was worth the wait! Read and review. :)


Comatose Screams


I was angry. I was sickened.

I didn't want to control Malice-Alice. I wanted to cause as much destruction to this hellish clinic as possible.

I began to smash the windows, ruin the images, trash the rooms inside.

Whenever I'd finish a room, I'd notice another down the line.


That didn't stop me. Half the time there were tears streaming down my cheeks at how many rooms were here, how many children were here how many had lost their innocence. Because of me. Me.

I didn't save mom and dad. I barely saved myself. I lost my sanity.


I am blank.

I just stare.

I don't see anything in Wonderland or Reality.

I just destroy.

I am lost.


"You know, you could try to be useful."

I jump and look behind me. Sprouted in the middle of the bright room is an oak tree. I glance up at it, examining the old appearance of the branches. Where did the tree come from? I wonder.

"I am. I'm protecting these children," I reply to the tree.

The bright grin appears above a branch and the mangy cat follows, lounging comfortably. Cheshire Cat. He smirks at me and twitches his tail.

"Nothing will help them if you insist on wasting your time here."

I eye the cat warily. He never says anything without a reason ... what is he driving at?

"If you like to sit here for another decade and end up hurting the world more then saving it, then by all means, do."

My confusion is apparent on my face.

"What decade?" I ask.

"Time flies when one is having fun."

Cheshire Cat grins at me, an odd glint in his eyes as he disappears. I frown and look around.

The compartments around me are destroyed. Only, a few yards away, I see that the direction I had come from ... the compartments looked fine. I had destroyed them ... but now they're fine.

Stupid bloody thing, it regenerates itself!

Cheshire Cat was right. I am wasting my time here. I should ... where should I go? Where was I going before all of this ...? The library! Yes ... how do I leave here ...

The way back was amazingly quick. I only walked about an hour when I saw an end to it and the familiar study hall. I avoided looking at the compartments, fearing I would lose control of Malice-Alice once again and start pillaging the area again.

Walking back into the red wallpapered room, I felt my senses reawaken.


My room at Rutledge hasn't changed a bit. White Rabbit is still here, my arms clinging to the soft toy. For a while, I could only move my neck. Looking around, seeing everything as I last remembered it. I feel oddly detached from my body. I must have been laying here for some time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, does the feeling in my arms come to me.

Little pinpricks of heat tingle all up and down my body. It feels as if I've forgotten how to move. Heat slowly washes over me and I attempt to raise my arm. It stings, but I do it anyway.

Suddenly, I shiver as the heat passes and I feel how cold this room really is.

I scramble up to wrap the blanket that's on my bed around me. I'm shivering and shaking and I don't think it's from the cold. I've been comatose too long. I should tell someone.

I attempt to speak.

Only nonsensical mutterings escape my throat. How do I explain if no one can understand me?


I sleep for days, in Wonderland and Reality. I can't run away from the memories of the children. Their blank stares, grinning lips, fidgeting hands that never seem to calm from the adrenaline of fear. They call me back, they wish to detain me once again, for years, so that I'll never follow White Rabbit and find the way to fix this place. They hurt me and stab at my soul that the man and the broken piece of glass didn't.

What's to say of someone who will kill grown men and actually enjoy it, but is sent into a state of mental distress at the sight of tortured children? Is that normal?

I need to ask someone, but I don't know how.

So I drown in painful dreams.


About a week later, I got up. Reacquainting myself with my body, the one that is ten years older then my mentality. My hands were slightly larger, my hair darker and longer, and I assume my stare even more deadly. I shuffled around the room in circles, waking my muscles, numbly trying to understand how to explain what was happening. But at the same time, I wondered if it was worth it. Maybe it was a waste of time.

But then I saw it.

Rolled under my metal bed was a small pencil. The nurse must have dropped it when she came in to check on me recently. Rather foolish, I could stab anyone; myself, her, the doctor. The glass proved that.

I stooped over and picked it up.

It was smooth and cold from sitting alone on the stone floor. It was slightly faded, as if it had been used often for a very long time. It was nothing special, like everything in this institute.

And yet ... it was perfect. Perfect for what I needed. Now I just needed one more thing.


I'm not really sure how I got a piece of paper. Maybe the foolish nurse left it accidentally. All I felt was my hand, skimming over the paper, sketching lines that flowed from my mind. It took so long for me to decipher what I was writing, until the end result.

Cheshire Cat in his tree.

He looks so deranged in Reality. Such a contrast to the normal gray walls and yellowed paint on the ceiling. Quite usual in Wonderland ... but unusual here.

I got a headache one night trying to figure it out.

Well, I presented the picture this morning to the nurse. She looked quite shocked, to tell the truth. For someone so dormant and hidden in a cocoon of pain, I certainly showed no sign of awaking. Why now?

I honestly don't know. The Cheshire Cat could have left me for decades more and I wouldn't have noticed. I would do anything for those rooms to be purged and the children to be restored.

Innocence is so precious.