Dreaming a Curious Reality
suchacuriousdream
Under the grinning clouds of sunset, two words were wrung by a trembling hand.
"Oh, dear!"
Both words and hand belonged to a something called a woman donning a truly admirable suit that could wrench attention from the hunched shoulders. Clamoring with her waistcoat-pocket, the woman brandished a watch, peered at it with a wince, and squeaked, wringing out the same two words. "Oh, dear!" She stretched out her arm, her pale, white wrist exposed, tearing herself from Time. Strands of white hair scratched her flushed cheeks, etching on one side a feline grin. "I shall be late!"
But such words, whether it was for Time to hear or not, fell upon the cobblestone London streets. Clouds drifted. People waltzed. Time flew.
As Time's Second arrived and departed, it whisked away the woman, leaving in her place another woman. From her pinned hair, high-collared dress, and shined boots, she was an epitome of normalcy. So much unlike the man beside her.
The man wore nonchalance laced in his red-speckled yellow tie as he held in his left hand nine teacups stacked atop one another. The cups came askew, giggling along the way, as he bobbled toward a something--a something called "young woman" and "Alice."
When he reached the young woman Alice, his voice cracked. "Does your watch tell you"--the man's hat tipped over his eyes, its price of ten shillings and sixpence wrinkling, grinning--"what year it is?"
Two Seconds ticked and tocked. At the tick, the man waited for Alice to answer. At the tock, the man was replaced by a grim cabby who shoved Alice out of his way, mumbling under his breath that he was late.
No pocketwatch. No teacups. But the clouds above remained. Their grinned widened, spreading, thriving at the presence of madness.