Part X- Cos if you hold it too close, you lose it

'Oh Honey I'm so glad your safe'

I look down to check for the tell-all cannon hole, but I can only see peroxide blonde and violet spasms engulfing my face, pungent with vanilla, ammonium, cinnamon and cherry blossom.

'Hey mum',

'Oh my god, sweety you're awake! You were mumbling like nobody's business, are you alright in there?'

I choose not to answer, you've always been full of silly questions.
'How was your day', 'would you mind babysitting', 'have you done your homework'.
etc, etc.
As usual, I mumble.

You sit up.
My stomach hurts...
Why does my stomach hurt?

Oh right, the cannon hole.

Wait hang on, cannon hole??

'What happened?'

Silence.

Wait, my mother, silent??
Something bad...

Something very bad...

'...mum...'

'I....sweety....'

Speechless.

Oh god.

'.....mum?'

'...'

....

'I...I can't say it sweetheart. I... I'll tell you as soon as I can'.

Whats that supposed to mean?
And why is it such a big deal to tell me why my stomach hurts?

Oh well, might as well catch up on the last 37 seasons of Bold and the Beautiful while I wait for her to pull herself together, she probably had another breakup or something.

Now where is that remote?

Ah, there. -click-

'Yet another development on the horrifying tragedy unfolding today, as yet another body is removed from the school centre. We cannot state for certain the death toll, but at present we estimate it to be at least ten.'

Hang on... that courtyard...those double doors, that ugly green council sign.
my school?

As the reporter babbles something about parents picking up their kids, I find myself staring at my stomach, not remembering moving my gaze there.

I think to look at my mother, after what seems like an eternity, full of blank memories, meaningless pain, and the shadow of a thought that I do not want to know why my stomach hurts.

I remember a movie I saw when I was little, called a little princess. long story short, girl in school, father in army, father thought dead, girl servant. father not dead, next door with amnesia, girl finds father, father remembers girl, lovely reuniting scene in the rain.

But before that he says something I never understood, when he couldnt remember what he felt was missing. 'how strange to have your heart remember something your mind does not' and I know what he means now.

And it hurts, my heart hurts.
Profoundly, deeply, unreasonably.

I look to my mother, who stares blankly out of the window some more, unchanged but for the tears rolling down her face, silent and acidic.

She finds me looking at her, she says your name and something else after that, but I can't hear it over my own screaming.

But you keep talking, as if I am saying nothing.
Hang on, why aren't I screaming?

how can I be silent when she just said what she said...

I don't know how, but I don't think I'll ever speak again

Part IX I'm giving up slowly

'Yes Oyster, what did you think I was, a crab?'
At this there was much laughter, snickering, snorting, hisssing, cackling.
And a walrus laugh, coming from me.
But I don't even think its funny!

'How dare you silly people types call that a walrus noise!' said the top hat wearing walrus.
'We sound nothing like that!'

Upon hearing this proud announcement, all of the little oysters (for there was quite a multitude I could see now) began to tickle the walrus and he proceeded to make that exact sound, but ever so slightly higher in pitch and quicker in rhythm.

'But thats quite enough of all this silly talk, we must find something more interesting to speak of!' (he cleared his throat here) ' The time has come the walrus said to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs ha...'

Suddenly, the carpenter pulled out his hammer, and bonked the walrus on the top hat and subsequently on the head. And you simply had to say 'bonked' because it was just so accurate as to the noise that the hammer made.

'ENOUGH' he cried. 'Enough! Enough! ENOUGH! I don't want to hear one more bloody word about bloody cabbages and bloody KINGS!!!'

'well!!!well!!!....well? well how dare you!'
Sensing an argument in the works, I stepped in.
'Oh please don't argue, in front of a guest and all!'
The pair made 'hmmmm....well all right' and 'mmmm... I guess so' noises and I decided I had won them over, at least for the minute.

"I have something for us to discuss gentlemen!'
At this they turned their full attention to me and I decided to ask the question that had been bugging me since I arrived here.

'So gentlemen, where is Alice?'
Instead of becoming ensconced in deep enthusiastic discussion, they both turned white as a sheet and started shaking.
'What?'
-shiver-

'What?!?'
-shiver-

'WHAT!'

They pointed over to my left, I turned and saw Alice, turning to see me.

The ever present cannon hole made it possible to see most of the carpenter behind her.

But he's behind me!
Turning around, I double check that he is indeed behind me, and he is.

I look back at Alice and realise neither of us have spoken, she seems to be waiting for me to talk first.
'Are you...' I began to querie her health, when I realise her mouth moves exactly as my own.

I look down at myself and I see it there, right in the middle of my beautiful blue summer dress.

The cannon hole.

Part VIII- Vienna Waits For You

Arriving at the hospital, everyone makes a fuss.
They shout numbers and science words at each other, and say STAT a lot, but still it doesn't seem to be loud enough in here, it's too quiet.

Then I realise it's because there's no drama-enhancing mood music.

Because this is real, this isn't hollywood.
Although maybe it will become so, I hear someone say that the vultures have already pounced.
But I don't care.
They check me out and ask me if I know where I am, what my name is.

I tell them that I'm in a hospital, having a fuss made over me and didn't they know where they are and the paramedics have already done this, and can I go home yet?

Oh, and my name, seeing as they look at me funny when i leave that detail out.
And no I can't they say.
They say I need surgery, well, one of them does.

The others are all a little preoccupied with shouting at each other and shoving things in my arms.

'We're going to take you into surgery now, you'll wake in recovery'.

Recovery?
Hopefully they know more about medicine than humour.

Mask over my face.

Wait, a what over my face!!
no! no no no no no!!!
AIR!!I NEED AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I NEED.....air............air........


I'm so sick of the world spinning, I'm almost getting used to it.

It's gonna be weird when it stops.

If it stops.

'The world is always spinning child, didn't you know that?'

Right, of course, how silly of me.

'Except when its not' said the wise old oyster.

Yes, of course.I mean, what? Oyster?

Part VII- Under House Arrest, Until You Change Your MInd

My stomach leaps (unfortunate seeing as thats where I'm injured) with the realisation that I have been shot.

It hurts like I have never been hurt before, like I could never imagine.

It's as if someone has stabbed me with a red hot sword, a red hot jagged sword.
And they're twisting it around, and around.

And around again.

I look down and see that I have been bandaged up and I realise that I am not wearing a maroon shirt like I had thought at a vague glance.

I was wearing a white shirt, now red with the stain of my misfortune.

I am going to need a new one, if I can ever bear to come back here.


Suddenly there are flashes of light, again and again. I'm wondering if I'm passing out again out again, seeing stars or something.

But then there are voices, people holding back other people while they spin their webs of hysteria, spreading out their tentacles of horror, picking up the seeds of our agony and planting them in the furtile grounds of other peoples unspoilt lives.

Spreading the disease, feeding the weed.

My mother....

For the first time I realise that she will be in pieces, she'll fly into pieces.

When the paramedic comes back, she tells me that all of the injured are being bussed to the hospital, families will be informed,

Shit. Oh Shit. She is going to...she's gonna...

I don't even want to know whats going to happen in her head.

Out of nowhere, I discover that I have no idea where you are, I so desperately wanted to never let go, to just cling on to you, but we have been torn apart, torn like the fabric of my body and my life.

But they are loading me up and shipping us off, there are students everywhere, running into the arms of hysterical mothers, being signed off and taken home.

Except the injured.

Why is it that we who need our families most are denied them?

And except you, you are denied everything but handcuffs.

Just like before, you are alone.


Did you think that this would change that?

Part VI - Take a Photograph

My ears ring with the idea that I have been shot.
I stare down at it, half expecting to see a wonderland cannon hole.

Suddenly I become aware of a paramedic speaking to me.
'Hey sweety, what's your name? Can you hear me?'
I tell her my name and she calls me by it just a little too often.

Like when I meet an exchange student and try to pronounce their name properly in my head, again and again until its cemented there.

But I know she'll forget me soon enough. She's got to, how else could you cope with stuff like this every single day?

Distance, thats how.

And I feel like thats what's happening to me, my mind is distancing itself from my body, from my life.

But, persistent in much the same way as telemarketers are 'persevering'; she breaks through.
'Can you move at all?'

I can move all right, I could move to punch her in the face and kick her in the shins.
HOW DARE SHE PULL ME BACK INTO THIS PLACE!
HOW DARE SHE MAKE ME FACE THIS!!!

But this is not what I say, and, just as a thousand times before, I do not say what I mean, or mean what I say for that matter.

'Yeah, I think so' meaning 'Yes, now get me the fuck out of here before I need a straight jacket to hold together the bits of my broken heart, mind, soul, body. But, you know, take your time'

'Ah, you might need to let go now, so we can take you out to the ambulance.'

Looking down to the floor, on my right hand side (the left hand side is murder of the enth degree) I realise we are still holding hands. The young copper tending you is saying the same.

We look at our hands, bloodied with regret and white knuckled with terror, and then look at each other, broken, distant, exhausted. Barely holding onto each other and reality.

In synchronisation, we shake our heads at the medics.
They look at each other, one shrugs.

It's a tricky little maneouvre to get us up without tearing our broken bodies completely to pieces, but we manage. You up first cos your injury is smallest, then all three of you help me.

A paramedic under my arm holding me up and my best friend holding me together, we hobble out of the building to a waiting makeshift hospital.

The world spins as I see old friends and enemies alike, scattered across the courtyard.

Injuries equalling and surpassing mine attach themselves to people from my year, and the years below. The year twelves are all off for home study before exams, lucky for some.

Seeing the people from my year, I remember when we met in this courtyard on the very first day of school, excited and scared.

Funny that we'd be here now, bleeding and shocked out of our skins.

Funny that our worlds are imploding right here, just like we thought they would on the first day of year eight.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Thankfully, I let go of your hand before I hit the floor.

It's funny how we disconnect ourselves just before we fall down, 'to save them'.

Honestly, I think I just didn't want you falling on me.

Part V- Another Head Aches, Another Heart Breaks

'Are you ok?' you ask me.

A stupid question.

Kind, and gentle and loving, so very like you.
But stupid and pointless.
Very unlike you.

'Mhmmm' I murmur. A lie, but a signal that I am at the very least still here.

'Can you see anything?'

Now that she asks, I realise I actually can't. That bang must have got the light, or the power, or something.
'Nuh uh', Meaning no. For some reason, I'm incapable of using real words.

We both clench up as we hear the shuffle of footsteps, breathing. We could feel the air change and somehow we knew we'd been waiting for this.
'Who...who's there?' I'm instantly struck with the thought that you are a complete idiot.
Haven't you heard of playing dead?

I hear a gruff voice bark something that sounded like 'FREEZE' or maybe sneeze, or pees, or trees, who knows, who cares.

But something inside me relaxes as I realise that this voice does not belong to our villain, it has none of the fear, the desperation, the stage-fright of our villain.. Something is growled about the police force and a torchlight skitters over us like a caffeinated beetle.

Skitters over us and onto that which I had so efficiently forgotten, denied, repressed.

You.

Still, cold, silent.

Three things you never were while you were alive.

Three things I had not accepted you would be when I opened my eyes.

She screams from next to me, and the police realise what they've done.

Found victims number one, two and three. Only one of which will not have to remember this moment for the rest of their life. Because its already over.

I can't breathe. I can't think, I can't move, can't deal with this.
As the policeman pulls me to my feet the world spins, from shock and blood-loss.　

’Shit!’ I hear him say. 'This one's taken one to the stomach! Looks pretty bad'

I vaguely register that he's talking about me as I hear another say she has taken one to the left calf.
All I can see is you.
They put me back on the ground, to wait for paramedics.

One young guy stays with us while the rest of the party move on down the corridor, to wave their torchlights over other peoples agony and hand them bandaids.

'You should probably look away' he says, and the sound of her crying floats through to me.
I automatically put my arm around her and pay no attention to the pain it causes when she leans on me. I can't feel anything.

I am numb, but in agony.
I am silent, but screaming.

Surely this cannot be real.

Part IV- Make It Last

"Waking up.

I've never enjoyed it, occasionally despised it even.
Or rather, I thought I despised it.
I had no idea what it meant to truly despise waking up in the morning.
Or waking up at all.
Ever.

But dreams are just as bad as reality, or worse.

And when I begin to fade back in, its quiet.

I expected frantic screams, running, more bangs, sirens, hysteria. Chaos.
But there is nothing.

I lie there, covered in dust and blood, i don't even know whose...
I don't want to know whose.

I don't want to hear, see, feel, do, or know anything.

Give me envy, give me malice, give me a break...

Give me denial, sweet, sweet denial.

I slip back into unconsciousness, but something pulls me back, insistent, almost desperate.

Please, please I'm begging you don't make me, DON'T MAKE ME!

I am screaming as the Cheshire cat fades away, stripe by stripe.

The rabbit insists he must go, he's very late.

The Mad Hatter and The March Hare are frantically trying to help me remember whatever it is that makes me so desperate to stay in Wonderland, or Looking Glass, or wherever we are.

The Door mouse puts the jam on his own nose and goes to sleep, I am achingly jealous.

And then Alice...
Bloodied, bruised, with a canon hole through her from her husband the tardy rabbit...
'You simply cannot stay here darling. Even I had to leave Wonderland...'

And so I am back in the real world, though it is not the same world it was when the director called 'fade to black'...
It never will be, never again.

I know this, but I can't remember why...

So I just lie there, covered in denial and a strangers blood, paralyzed by terror.

Until I feel a hand touch mine, moving of its own volition.

I hear a voice, that sounds like an actor doing voice in a cartoon.
You know that you know that voice, but it sounds different, you can't place it.

It's you, I finally realise, but not you. Forever tainted by these moments, the wounds are showing already. But you are speaking, which means you are breathing, which means you are still here.
For your sake, I'm not sure if this is good or bad.

I'm terrified that I'm dreaming and I don't move...

But then, I hear you start to cry, ever so quietly...
And I little bit of courage seizes me by the throat, as if to say
'You are making it worse, just because you're scared.
Don't you dare find a way to make this worse'

So I squeeze you back, and hear you catch your breath in response.

Is it beautiful or sad that you didn't let go of my hand even when you thought I was gone?

Part III- I've had the same jeans on for four days now

" Somehow waking up is more painful than the nightmares. They were beautiful really.

A glittering dream scape of fantasy, tinged with the now black reality of fact...

The fact that I cannot stay in this place.

Alice and the white rabbit get married, the Cheshire cat officiates and the mad hatter is her maid of honor, the march hare the best man and the door mouse the flower girl.

It is a lovely ceremony, until it comes to the part with the objecting.
Apparently objections are compulsory here, everyone must have at least one and each must be sorted through and proven wrong before the wedding can proceed, like a trial, but more trying.

The Queen of Hearts shrieks 'OFF WITH HER HEAD' and nearly gets the motion passed, but she refuses to justify her statement, crying ' All ways here are MY ways!' until the Red and White Queens carry her away.

The Red King's snoring is almost considered as an objection, but Humpty Dumpty proclaims it to be praise.

The most disturbing objection of all is by far the catepillar. Blowing his entrancing smoke rings, he insists Alice provides an answer to his highly impertinent question.

'WHO! ARE! YOU?!'.

But the white rabbit simply replies with 'My late wife' and pulls out a cannon to cease all objections to Alice forever.

youcannotstayhereyouknow

Whispers the gnat in my ear, the bread-and-butter-flies die for lack of tea with cream in it, the snap-dragon-flys flee to their christmas boxes and I...

I cannot stay here.

Part II- Beneath the Neon Lights We'll Go Wandering

"But we lucky few, we are permitted to pass go and collect our $200 of vouchers for slurpee heaven, where they sell only head-spin seasoned with MSG, heart-break sprinkled with six year old icing sugar and nightmares on a bed of toe jam, marinated in repression and denial, every night for the rest of our lives; like sand through the hourglass.

Permitted, by an unlikely Hollywood villain/victim with the face of a familiar stranger, to struggle on in our little trio, helping each other keep from throwing up the past.

Or so we thought.

One for all and (f)all to the floor.

I felt a funny pain in my knee as I fell, a twinging symptom of years of netball and falling down the stairs.

And a decidedly unfunny pain in my stomach and my head, as the fuzz of impact begins to engulf me.

Just before I let it, I realise three things.
One/Yi/Uno/Eins: I am on the floor, but twisted all funny, very unlike a bobcat pretzel.

Two/Ar/Dos/Zwei: I am one of many

Three/San/Tres/Drei: You are the most twisted, your beautiful face not sitting quite right. Turned toward me, it seems wrong, unsupported, with nothing behind it.

All in the same instant I wordlessly pray I am wrong and know that I am not, as I slip into God only knows where.

Part I- Get Yourself Dressed Instead of running around, and pulling on your threads

I want to write, so here goes. Goodness only knows what will come out...

" We are walking through a delapidated, disliked corridor. We thought the worst thing it could lead to was double english in computer labs that don't work fast enough to support slacking off.

We are wrong.

What was a flurry of break-neck speed gossip and inconsequential whinging becomes screams of pure unadulterated terror. A sound we had never heard before, now cannot stop hearing from inside our forever altered souls.

Bang! And screams.

We fall to the floor by a block of lockers, huddled together.
Silent dread drifts over us and settles like plaster dust, sets like burnt chocolate only to be disturbed and broken by a sound we never expected to hear for real.

Hollywood taught us that sound, like a school teaches you to go inside or outside in response to the dissonant wail of a siren, rather than how to do cartwheels or roast sunflower seeds, or other such useful things.

Run, they taught us. Run and bleed at that noise. Or just skip straight to bleed, do not pass go, do not collect $200, but that doesn't work as well for action movies, only crime shows."