Author's note:

Author's note:

Candy: Hello, and good day. I'm Candy… I've written Star Wars, Zelda, Gundam Wing, and Final Fantasy 8 stories. I'm sure you're proud. Anyway… I have recently been introduced to the game: American McGee's Alice. Those of you who are reading this fic (and the others in the section) know what it's about. If you don't here's a brief summary: Alice is insane. Wonderland has turned into one of the darker pits of hell, and things are generally fucked up. ^_^

So yeah, I was playing the game and I always noticed that the Cheshire Cat and Alice had these batty conversations… they'd exchange witty comments and advice… you could tell they were friends, but didn't it seem like they were almost… flirting? That's where this idea came from. Basically… what if Alice and the Cheshire Cat had a brief romantic meeting… but Cheshire… wasn't really himself?

Just… read before you go "God that's sick."

Disclaimer: I own not a notion I escape and ape content I don't own emotion I REEEEEEEEEENT! ~ Mark and Roger, RENT


By: Candy

I fell again.

I swore this time I was going to miss the ledge, and fall into the mist below.

It's hopeless.

But, ah… once again… Alice survives and grasps onto the ground, digging her nails into the muddy ground, and yanking her skinny body out of harms way, lying in a tired… seemingly lifeless heap on the ground. Why is she talking in third person? Who knows…

Damn Waterfalls.

They're large and wet and useless.

Damn Rabbit.

He just couldn't wait could he?

Heh heh… insane. That's what they called me back in the asylum. Insane? Can you imagine?! As mad as the mad hatter… wonder what he looks like now…

Clinical Depression, is what they called it I believe. Suicidal. Depressed. Paranoid. Possible bipolar disorder. That's what I'm "sick" with.

Shows how much they know.

Damn doctors.

They weren't there when the fire was there… They weren't licked with flames, like my family. They didn't watch as their home… the only home they'd ever really known, was burnt to the ground. THEY didn't hear the shrieks of agony whistling in the winter wind from their own parents. They didn't watch on, helpless, as their lives were ripped from their very fingertips.

I don't understand why they call this place: The Vale of Tears.

I'm not crying.

Hah… tears… something I haven't shed in a long while. I see no reason to. Quite frankly, I see nothing, really. It's very black… everything is. Even in the light of… I'm assuming day… this place is quite dark. The waterfall above me isn't beautiful in my eyes. It's teeming with large ants, pushing boulders down upon me… wanting to kill me like every other damn creature in this God forsaken pit of dispa-

Who's crying?

I push off the grimy ground, my face half covered in dirt and mud, and scan about the area, my razor knife 'toy' ready to cut something… before it cuts myself.

This toy, you see, thirsts for blood. I can almost feel it pulsating and throbbing… practically screaming to be fed. And yet, it's not alive. It's a piece of metal… and it's not begging at all. I suppose… I'm the one thirsting for blood then, eh? I guess-

Bloody sobbing… I can't think with that wailing!

I dust off my skirts and let my dull emerald eyes wander across the scenery… there! Huddled in the shade of a blade of grass, cowering in a corner near the base of the waterfall, is a… a human?! I stalk forward full of curiosity and wonder and suspicion. I stop before their feet, watching their shoulders shake with sobs. I arch an auburn brow and place my hands on my hips.

"Who are you?"

Golden eyes meet my own.

It's a boy… a pure human boy.

In all my life I have never stared at a boy so intensely, as I am at this one… if my memory is correct. His clothing is shabby and dirty; gray slacks and a black woolen shirt, both covered in dust and debris. His face is pale and freckled, smudged with mud like my own. Two thin trails of purity are marked on his cheeks, the evidence of his tears. Atop his head is a pile of unruly raven black hair, some of it sweeping over his eyes, some of it not. A large silver hoop dangles from his right ear, and he has a strange black tattoo on the side of his cheek. His mouth hangs partially open, as he stares back at me.

He looks awfully frightened.

"Boy," I inquire, "why are you crying?"

He sniffles, wiping his eyes and nose, smearing the dirt about his face even more.

"I'm no' cryin…" he quips, his accent strong and thick… sounding as if he's from Scotland or Ireland… "An' I'm no boy." He sniffles a bit and stands, looming a good 6 inches above me. "I'm a man, lass."

I arch both my brows, a cruel smirk playing across my lips.

"Men don't cry."

He looks at me awkwardly for a moment and glances nervously at my blade.

"Could ya put that away, lass? I'm no' gonna hurt ya."

I hold my gaze. "I don't know that, and I don't know you." I hold my knife up, pointing it threateningly at his jugular. "Why should I trust you."

He takes a small step backwards, holding his grubby hands up.

"Because… I'm lost as you are…"

I glare at him, willing him to look at the bloodstains on my dress, trying to scare him. "I'm not lost, boy."

"Are you sure 'bout that?"

I hesitate for a moment, then lower my knife, sticking it into one of the pockets of my dirty, tattered apron. I glare at him again, hoping to send a chill through his lanky body.

"I'm sure."

His eyes look me over, and he grins. "I don' think you are."

That grin… that smile…. I shrug the sense of deja-vu off and place my hands on my hips. "Who are you to say I'm lost or not. You don't know me."

He grins wider. "But I do…"

I clench my fists. "No one… knows me. I don't need anyone, especially you, to claim that they do."

He steps forward. "Do you?"

I step backward. "I don't. Are you absolutely mad?"

He steps forward again. "Am I?"

I step backward again. "You are… Why am I even conversing with you?! You don't appear to be in any trouble… you're just playing games with me."

He steps forward, leaning his face close to my own. "Was I?"

I step backward, finding myself cornered against a blade of grass. I lower my hand near the hilt of my knife. "You were. Get away from me… and stop answering my questions with a question!"

He shakes his head.

The knife lusts for blood. It wants the blood of this… this annoying, impish, incredibly familiar, boy. I press my back against the grass blade, and pull out my weapon with a hiss. In a blink, I point the tip of it at his throat. "Get… away…"

What's that pressure on my wrist?

I move my eyes cautiously from his to find his hand own wrapped gently around my arm. I look back at him angrily. "Do you WANT to die?"

"No… But you do, don' you?"

I open my mouth to speak, suddenly feeling… rather confused.

"I'm not afraid to…"

His eyes lock with mine.

"I didn' ask that, lass. I asked if you WANTED to."

I narrow my eyes and grit my teeth.

"Get back, damn you!"

He doesn't say a word, but lowers my hand away from his throat. I stare at my arm and realize… it had been shaking… it was STILL shaking.


I look up at him.

"You needn't fear, lass… you have friends 'ere. You can scale that waterfall if you believe in yourself."

My brow furrows.

"Who ARE you?"

He smiles wide.

"A wise friend, Alice…"

My eyes grow large.

His face lowers close to mine… his grinning lips within centimeters of my own.

"A very wise friend."

His free hand reaches out and runs over my filthy cheek. I don't even notice the tears he wipes aside… I didn't even know I had cried them… I stand paralyzed, instead of lusting for blood I lust for something else… I lust for…

His lips find my own, and press hard… causing my eyes to grow even wider… like the plates my mother used to serve the tea on…

I fear, I lust for understanding… And this strange boy seems to be able to do that.

I drop the knife.

I close my eyes.

And I let myself fall.

Suddenly, it's awfully cold. I open my eyes and find myself kissing nothing but the air. I look about, wanting to call out for the strange boy… but can't. I feel myself shiver.

"I didn't even know his name…"

"Wonderland is a place of many riddles, each one can be solved… just piece together the clues and you will find your answer."

I spin about grasping for a weapon of any kind, finding my cards, and holding one ready. I let my eyes narrow and find myself looking into the yellow eyes of Cheshire Cat.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you know that man…" He stretches his bony limbs and walks around me, running his black and gray tail over my boots, smiling ridiculously.

I place my cards back in my pocket, and run my hands over my arms, looking to the side, appearing bored.

"He was no man… he was a boy."

The cat grins wider.

"For a boy… he seemed pretty wise."

"… Maybe, Kitten."

I look into Cheshire's eyes, and feel myself shiver again, lust for blood and understanding is fleeting away… but my lust for answers, well… it's still growing.

His smile stretches out further.

"I'm no' a kitten, lass," he says in a familiar accent, "I'm a cat."

I stare down at him, my mind working fast as it can go. Then it clicks.

I raise my hand to my lips and look down at Cheshire, who's smiling madly.


He laughs.

"…Are leaving," he finishes. His body disappears, leaving only his wide, mischievous grin.

"I'll see you soon, Alice."

And he's gone.

I stand there a moment, my eyes wide and unseeing, hand still frozen on my lips, the wind running through my limp auburn hair, toying with my dress. I shake my head and lean over to pick up my blade.

I look at my reflection and smile coldly, feeling rather brave.

"A cat may be cunning and wise, Cheshire…" I say to the air, "But I can always find a way to take one of your nine lives… Be careful who you play your games with…"

I turn towards the waterfall.

Damn waterfall…

It doesn't look so big, after all… does it?