Alice Grows Small

Alice takes her special presents to the park. It’s her twenty-first birthday, and she wants to celebrate in the best way possible.

The sunshine glows on the grass, glazing green and lime into the eyes of the park’s inhabitants. Alice has seen such colors before—only once, fourteen years ago. Families sit around having picnics, their children cartwheeling nearby, faces brimming with excitement as if tomorrow will never come. Alice smiles at their happiness, but inside she also envies them. She wishes she could have cartwheeled more as a kid. She wishes she could have seen more delightful days like this one.

But her aunt, who was her sole guardian, forced her to read math books and classic literature. Books without pictures—the one thing Alice hates.

Out of her jean pocket, she pulls out a bottle. It is the size of her pinky finger; a white label near its cap hangs limply. It reads: DRINK ME. Alice uncaps the bottle and takes a sip.

The memory, like the drink itself sliding down her throat, flows into her brain. She tastes cherry tart—her favorite dessert. That was the first thing she tasted when she visited that place so long ago, when she first put the bottle to her lips. And now it is the first thing she tastes again.

Now the real fun will begin. Now things will become curiouser and curiouser.

The table rises, and Alice feels her skin tighten and her bones shrink. It is a humming sensation—like someone holding a massager against her back—her body soothing as she begins to vibrate.

She looks up and finds that she is a foot smaller. Alice smiles. The drink worked beautifully. Somehow her clothes—white shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes—have shrunk with her. The contents of her pockets shrink, too. She doesn’t know how this is, nor does she care. She buzzes with excitement, knowing her birthday is going to be absolutely wonderful.

She sips from the glass bottle again. This time, buttered toast greets her tongue.

And once again, the buzzing sensation begins, this time with a twinge of pain. Alice shrinks from four feet tall to three feet tall in seconds. Becoming smaller and unseen is a familiar feeling. Before, it felt horrid. Now Alice grins like a cat she once knew.

She stands up and starts walking toward a flower bed. Giant people stare down at her. Children giggle; some adults gasp at such a small person walking by. Alice doesn’t care. She keeps walking, a skip or two in her step.

Another sip, and the liquid, now tasting of toffee, goes right to the pit of her belly.

Alice stops. Once the toffee taste fills her throat and lands in her stomach, there is a warm feeling. No, not warm—burning. Fire grows inside her, and it only becomes worse when she sips the bottle again. A strange aftertaste of pineapple covers her tongue right in the middle of shrinking.

Clutching her fiery belly, Alice shrinks again. Now she is only a foot tall, just slightly taller than a Barbie doll.

But she doesn’t stop. She clutches the bottle tight, staggering toward the flowers. Only two more sips, she thinks, and she will be at peace. She will be in a world of her own.

My own wonderland, she thinks.

Her tiny hand grips the bottle—now the size of a huge mug in comparison. She gulps down one last drop. The taste of custard fills her mouth. She swallows and almost chokes as it flows down to her stomach.

Alice screeches in agony. Her abdomen feels ready to burst with dangerous fireworks. She closes her eyes and falls to her knees. The sounds of waving leaves, passing cars, and nonsensical chatter hurt her ears. It reminds her of a courtroom filled with the strangest creatures—a dodo bird, a hare, an old grumpy man in a top hat—all trying to get through a trial about stolen tarts.

It is painful to hear, and all she wants is to go out like a candle. To not deal with this pain. To not deal with anything.

She just wants to be small and invisible, a speck of dust on a fingertip.

Alice opens her eyes. The sounds melt away. Around her is a crowd of the brightest, tallest flowers—daisies, buttercups, roses, lavender. A burst of heavenly colors. She is smaller than all of them, just a thimble of a girl.

She smiles, tears filling her eyes.

This is where she wanted to be today.

She lies down among the flowers, making angels in the dirt. Words fill her head, silly words, silly rhymes, and this soothes her in her tiny state:

Still, she haunts me, phantomwise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children, yet the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear
Lovingly shall nestle near.

Lying back, Alice admires the wheel-sized petals, the trunk-like stems, and the breeze flowing down with soft strength, as gentle as a cradle. She closes her eyes. She doesn’t bother to ask herself if this is a dream. If it is, then she can dream as the days go by, dream as the summer dies.

Until—

Alice hears a rattling sound. Something large and rough scoops her from her resting place.

She screams, barely reacting in time as a hand wraps around her, squeezing her between a thumb and finger. It feels like a serpent, but it is worse than a serpent.

It is a monster. A giantess.

The old woman has long, dry black hair, bright skin, and a horrid smile—sharp teeth framed with red lipstick. Alice stares into her deep black eyes, afraid she will fall into them if the woman brings her any closer.

There is a tag on the woman’s overalls. It reads: J. B. Wocky.

“A little person!” the giantess’s deep voice booms. “Lucky me! I get to add another to my collection!”

Alice’s eyes widen. Collection? Does that mean others like her exist?

The dreadful smile tells Alice that may not be the case. This woman, Alice realises, has a twisted lust for collecting little things. Alice sees it in the rattling pearls of her bracelet.

The evil woman opens her purse, ready to imprison Alice inside.

Alice screams: “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

The woman stops, confused. “What did you say?”

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Alice shouts again.

She pulls out her other present. A soft cookie with white icing shines under the sky. Pink letters in the center read: EAT ME.

Alice devours it. Crumbs fall down her chin, sweetness filling her mouth.

The woman chuckles. “Such a greedy little thing. Looks like I’m going to have to fatten you up for—”

But her words turn into a shriek as Alice grows, stretching and bulging high into the sky.

Alice feels no pain now. Growing makes her feel strong. Growing makes her feel like who she wants to be.

At ten feet tall, Alice grins like the Cheshire Cat.

The woman shrieks and flees, but Alice grabs her, holding her in place. Her other hand slaps on top of the woman’s head.

Alice takes a deep breath and shouts in a booming voice that crackles like the worst thunderstorm, “Off with your head!”

Then, she crushes the woman’s skull.

Blood oozes over Alice’s skin, painting her hand red. This reminds her of white roses that were once painted red too.

Whether anyone saw, whether they ran in terror, Alice doesn’t know, nor does she care. She stares at the corpse of her almost-kidnapper, smiling as if she has won a game of cards.

She murmurs, “Life, what is it but a dream.”

Alice wipes crumbs from her chin. With a flip of her long blonde hair, she stomps away into the golden gleam of late July. People stare up at her, gasping at the red.

Alice doesn’t care. She just continues to move under the skies.