| ǝɔıןɐ ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ |
They say I'm losing the battle in my coma, that I'll have to be taken off the machinery if things continue. I think they're wasting breathe on me. I've long since stopped listening, and it seems like such things wouldn't matter to anyone else.
I'm fighting a war, you know. I can still laugh and play and even move, though that's the part they don't mention. I make it a point not to spoil them of the truth.
After all, they say they are professionals at what they do, and who am I to tell them they're horrible at what they do? I certainly can't be bothered to make such an effort, though, even if I had wanted to.
I close my eyes and sigh, letting the air of being so high wash away the murmurings in my ear. They always think I can't hear them, that I'm beyond the point of salvage, and I'd make sure to not tell them that either, if I had the chance to tell them anything. My hair blows in the wind, darkened red clashing against the almost yellow cloth of the balloon.
I've been here months, in this place beyond my own conscious, and there are still things I have yet to understand; why must the mode of travel be a hot air balloon, as calming as it is? I've oft dreamed of war, of gallantly leading an army into the fray, but never had it even occurred to me that I might end up doing so from above them.
Not that I make a habit of complaining. The air is welcoming to me, better than anything back in the world where doctors look in the wrong places, where they whisper fake symptoms and syndromes in my ear.
The man behind me, my personal lieutenant, reaches up to maneuver the balloon down. I don't watch him- I really have no need to anymore, he knows what he's doing and I neither have the time nor patience to do his job as well as my own.
Ha, think of that! A woman in a coma who doesn't have the time. But I imagine this is nothing more than my dreamland, and I'll be damned and beyond if I can't at least control that.
The balloon begins to drift downwards, and I open my eyes to watch my men below me. There's a man, a strange man- that I later note whom I should have watched more carefully-, but I don't and the consequence hits almost immediately.
He fires an arrow and it strikes a hole into my floating carriage, which then leads to my entire world crashing before my eyes. I gasp as the doctors become louder in my ear. ('She's going into-' - 'Quick, someone, retrieve the-')
And I hit the ground in a state of mind where all the voices in my head mangle and mash, intertwining into one in my head until they-.. until they all go quiet. I stop furiously scrubbing at my hair- something I didn't even realize I had been doing, and push myself off the ground.
That's the point when I think it all went wrong. My eyesight began to fail me, and an incessant high pitched noise refuses to leave my ears. I was pushed back to the ground by something or someone I couldn't see, and I was about ready to tell the doctors- who had taken back up their jobs of mumbling barely audible, yet equally annoying, medical sounding crap- that they can go start another group project without me of where they can go shove their damned diagnoses. I'm not one to often be so rude with my language, but of course I'm well beyond fed up with this nonsense already, and only wish to know what in the Lord's name has happened.
"Alice? You alright, Miss Alice?"
I rub my temples from the ground, and try again to push myself up, and open my eyes to find I am able to see once again. I stare down at the ground, down at my hands, and idly realize that at one point or another I had unsheathed my sword and began to tightly hold onto it. I look up at the speaker, to yell at him to be more careful next time, only to be further surprised that I had almost spoken ruined my reputation as a great leader by misspeaking to a black soldier I hadn't seen before. I do not mean to come across as racist of any level, as I have accepted that a soldier is a soldier despite the color, but this man was blacker than any skin I had seen.
I cannot tell any feature on his black face, but yet I know he's smiling as he kneels down to my level and offers a hand. "Quite a nasty li'l but'r knife ou've got there."
I finally manage to put my legs beneath me, and I hoist myself upright. "It is not a butterknife of any sort, soldier. Be sure not to make that mistake again."
"Ah, yes, 'fcourse. Very fancy, I thinks, Miss Alice."
"Right." I brush myself off, cautiously taking in everything around me.
"W'u'd 'ou like a cup o'tea, then?"
I stare this odd man down. "Soldier, are you daft? We are in the middle of a war, and I cannot say I have the time or confidence to do such a frivolous thing."
He nods, as if everything has managed to clear itself up with that one remarkably obvious statement. "Ah, yes, yes, 'fcourse." He says again.
A pause. Something's not right. There's an odd silence, both from the man and from the other world, though the strange soldier takes a step to walk away- to which I oddly follow. "Where are my men, soldier?" I ask.
He turns and smiles at me; a gruesome grin if I ever saw one. "Doing whut 'ou sh'uld be doing, Miss Alice."
"Fighting the war then, I presume?"
He gives an empty laugh. "Nah, nah, Miss Alice. Existin's whut I me'nt."
"Quite the courageous statement you made. Explain."
He turns away from me, finally, and places an extraordinarily peculiar and equally awkward hat upon his head. "Ov'r a cup o'tea, Miss Alice?"
"I've already once denied your silly request. Now stop saying my name after every statement, you sound ridiculous."
"I'd say m'own, Mizz Alice," he purposely slurs the name, I note, "but I don't think m'name w'uld sound 's de'ightfu'."
"Is that an attempt at speaking in riddles?" I ask, but nevermind that. "From what land do you come? I cannot place your eccentric accent."
I spot him smiling, but he doesn't turn toward me again, in favor of walking away. "I'd tell ya, b 'aven't the time nour tho't t' think 'fa name meself, Miss Alice."
Again, I thoughtlessly follow as he walks away. He's bringing me toward a forest, something that should at least pique my curiosity, but my mind finds no need for that, and I am only left to be bothered by just how un-bothered I am. "Have you lost your wits, soldier?"
"'m a hatter, Miss Alice. 'nd I 'aven't lost me witts, 'tall; 've g-ought'em in my pocket 'ere I left'em."
"You're a mad hatter either way. How ironic it is that you would be the one to help me."
I'm fighting a war, you know. I can still laugh and play and even move, though that's the part they don't mention. I make it a point not to spoil them of the truth.
After all, they say they are professionals at what they do, and who am I to tell them they're horrible at what they do? I certainly can't be bothered to make such an effort, though, even if I had wanted to.
I close my eyes and sigh, letting the air of being so high wash away the murmurings in my ear. They always think I can't hear them, that I'm beyond the point of salvage, and I'd make sure to not tell them that either, if I had the chance to tell them anything. My hair blows in the wind, darkened red clashing against the almost yellow cloth of the balloon.
I've been here months, in this place beyond my own conscious, and there are still things I have yet to understand; why must the mode of travel be a hot air balloon, as calming as it is? I've oft dreamed of war, of gallantly leading an army into the fray, but never had it even occurred to me that I might end up doing so from above them.
Not that I make a habit of complaining. The air is welcoming to me, better than anything back in the world where doctors look in the wrong places, where they whisper fake symptoms and syndromes in my ear.
The man behind me, my personal lieutenant, reaches up to maneuver the balloon down. I don't watch him- I really have no need to anymore, he knows what he's doing and I neither have the time nor patience to do his job as well as my own.
Ha, think of that! A woman in a coma who doesn't have the time. But I imagine this is nothing more than my dreamland, and I'll be damned and beyond if I can't at least control that.
The balloon begins to drift downwards, and I open my eyes to watch my men below me. There's a man, a strange man- that I later note whom I should have watched more carefully-, but I don't and the consequence hits almost immediately.
He fires an arrow and it strikes a hole into my floating carriage, which then leads to my entire world crashing before my eyes. I gasp as the doctors become louder in my ear. ('She's going into-' - 'Quick, someone, retrieve the-')
And I hit the ground in a state of mind where all the voices in my head mangle and mash, intertwining into one in my head until they-.. until they all go quiet. I stop furiously scrubbing at my hair- something I didn't even realize I had been doing, and push myself off the ground.
That's the point when I think it all went wrong. My eyesight began to fail me, and an incessant high pitched noise refuses to leave my ears. I was pushed back to the ground by something or someone I couldn't see, and I was about ready to tell the doctors- who had taken back up their jobs of mumbling barely audible, yet equally annoying, medical sounding crap- that they can go start another group project without me of where they can go shove their damned diagnoses. I'm not one to often be so rude with my language, but of course I'm well beyond fed up with this nonsense already, and only wish to know what in the Lord's name has happened.
"Alice? You alright, Miss Alice?"
I rub my temples from the ground, and try again to push myself up, and open my eyes to find I am able to see once again. I stare down at the ground, down at my hands, and idly realize that at one point or another I had unsheathed my sword and began to tightly hold onto it. I look up at the speaker, to yell at him to be more careful next time, only to be further surprised that I had almost spoken ruined my reputation as a great leader by misspeaking to a black soldier I hadn't seen before. I do not mean to come across as racist of any level, as I have accepted that a soldier is a soldier despite the color, but this man was blacker than any skin I had seen.
I cannot tell any feature on his black face, but yet I know he's smiling as he kneels down to my level and offers a hand. "Quite a nasty li'l but'r knife ou've got there."
I finally manage to put my legs beneath me, and I hoist myself upright. "It is not a butterknife of any sort, soldier. Be sure not to make that mistake again."
"Ah, yes, 'fcourse. Very fancy, I thinks, Miss Alice."
"Right." I brush myself off, cautiously taking in everything around me.
"W'u'd 'ou like a cup o'tea, then?"
I stare this odd man down. "Soldier, are you daft? We are in the middle of a war, and I cannot say I have the time or confidence to do such a frivolous thing."
He nods, as if everything has managed to clear itself up with that one remarkably obvious statement. "Ah, yes, yes, 'fcourse." He says again.
A pause. Something's not right. There's an odd silence, both from the man and from the other world, though the strange soldier takes a step to walk away- to which I oddly follow. "Where are my men, soldier?" I ask.
He turns and smiles at me; a gruesome grin if I ever saw one. "Doing whut 'ou sh'uld be doing, Miss Alice."
"Fighting the war then, I presume?"
He gives an empty laugh. "Nah, nah, Miss Alice. Existin's whut I me'nt."
"Quite the courageous statement you made. Explain."
He turns away from me, finally, and places an extraordinarily peculiar and equally awkward hat upon his head. "Ov'r a cup o'tea, Miss Alice?"
"I've already once denied your silly request. Now stop saying my name after every statement, you sound ridiculous."
"I'd say m'own, Mizz Alice," he purposely slurs the name, I note, "but I don't think m'name w'uld sound 's de'ightfu'."
"Is that an attempt at speaking in riddles?" I ask, but nevermind that. "From what land do you come? I cannot place your eccentric accent."
I spot him smiling, but he doesn't turn toward me again, in favor of walking away. "I'd tell ya, b 'aven't the time nour tho't t' think 'fa name meself, Miss Alice."
Again, I thoughtlessly follow as he walks away. He's bringing me toward a forest, something that should at least pique my curiosity, but my mind finds no need for that, and I am only left to be bothered by just how un-bothered I am. "Have you lost your wits, soldier?"
"'m a hatter, Miss Alice. 'nd I 'aven't lost me witts, 'tall; 've g-ought'em in my pocket 'ere I left'em."
"You're a mad hatter either way. How ironic it is that you would be the one to help me."