Twitch

His fury and slightly fur less thumbs hit the wooden table several times a second.

Thud.

Thud.

THUD.

“That thudding is suffering to gentle ears,” said the Hatter.

“She didn’t know what an unbirthday was! She has half a cup for a brain!” his long eared friend shouted, as he slammed his fragile tea cup onto the table. The tea cup suddenly split into two. He lifted the cup with the handle still attached, the cup shook violently.

“Half a cup, I get it. That’s funny,” laughed the Hatter, pointing at the tea cup, “Now stop shaking, you’ll break it again and then Alice will only have a quarter of a brain.”

“Then she’d need help. She needs help. Many of help!” he cried, holding onto to his ears as if rain showers were to come and he was protecting the disheveled fur that bestowed his ears.

“Help her, yes. I will go,” the Hatter spoke standing up, “I go. I will follow Alice and help her.”

“Invite her for tea afterward!” the Hare stood up in his chair, placing the half cup onto a saucer that was stained from the mass amounts of tea parties the two have had.

“She wouldn’t need tea,” the Hatter explained.

“No need for tea,” his jaw dropped and fell back into his chair.

“Yes, no tea,” The Hatter said. He looked down at the ground to find Alice’s small foot prints still in the ground. He pressed his left foot into a pressed and started walking in her foot prints.

The Hare watched has his friend hobbled away.

“No tea,” he muttered to himself.

He slowly turned his head left than right, knowing he was alone, he started to twitch.

His thumbs started to hit the table once again.

“No tea,” he continued to mutter, “No tea?”

When he didn’t talk, silence surrounded him. The twiddled his thumbs faster and harder against the table.

“No tea? Why no tea? Yes tea. Always tea. You want tea, not no tea. Everybody wants tea,” he continued to mutter, slurring his words faster and faster, “You want tea. She wants tea. Alice wants tea,” he grabbed a knife, a tea biscuit and a new cup, “She’ll just be late, but she wants tea. She doesn’t want no tea. But she’ll be late! She’ll be late for tea! You can’t be late for tea!”

He dropped the knife onto the tea cup, slicing it in half.

His eye bugged out of his head and he just stared at his cup. He was almost on the verge of his tears.

“Half a cup! I get it!” he said, repeating what his friend had said earlier.

A raven let out a cry and the hare scurried underneath the table, with both halves the tea cup in hand.

His friend’s voice continued to ring in his head.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” asked the Hatter.

He peered his head through the table cloth, quite literally. Once he saw the raven no more, he crawled through the hole he had created in the cloth and stumbled back onto his chair.

He placed the two halves onto a saucer. He stared inquisitively at the cup. He placed one paw on each half and pushed them together.

“A cup!” he exclaimed, “I can have my tea!”

He removed his paws from the cups to grab the pot of cold tea. He hovered the pot over the cup, but the pieces had moved away from each other. He put the pot back down onto a wool place mat. He pushed together the cups again, putting a wicked smile on his face. But he removed his hands without removing his eyes, and he saw the cups fall apart. A frown appeared on his face. He rocked back so his tail was pressed against the chair. He put his feet on the cups and pressed them together so they created a whole cup once again. I reached for the tea pot and poured the tea into the cup. He sighed in relief that cup hadn’t fallen apart again. He used his feet to raise the cup to his mouth and he took a sip of the tea. He placed the cup back onto the saucer. Then he heard a twig break in half, and his feet let go of the cup and the tea soaked the table.

“No!” he cried over the split liquid.

He picked up the halves and threw them at various trees.

“Twinkle twinkle little bat, how I wonder where you're at,” he quietly sang.

He heard another twig snap.

“Twinkle twinkle little bat, how I wonder where you're at,” he sang a little louder, trying to fill the silence.

Another twig.

“Twinkle twinkle little bat, how I wonder where you're at,” he sang at the top of his lungs. He jumped onto the table and continued to sing, “Up above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky. Twinkle twinkle.”

A twig snapped again.

“Would you like tea?” he asked the air, he started to twitch again.

And again.

“Tea?” he asked, once more.

Another snap meet his ears, but he heard it from under the table.

He lifted up the table cloth to find nothing.

“Tea?” he said.

Then he looked down at his own feet, which then just stepped on another twig, causing it to snap.

“Feet! No tea for you!” he stood up straight in his seat realizing what he had just said, “No tea? Yes tea! Many tea!”

He reached for the cold pot of tea and removed the porcelain lid. He raised it to his mouth and drank it down. It didn’t take him long to finish the pot and putting in down onto the table.

“You’re just going to sit there and drink cold tea,” asked the Door mouse.

“Yes, until Hatter comes back after he has helped Alice and her half of a cup brain!” he exclaimed.

“Come on, I have some nice hot tea at my House of Mouse,” she said.

“Tea?” he twitched his nose.

“Yes, tea.” She replied.

“Then let’s go!” He started to run in the direction of the mouse, ripping off the handle of the tea pot in the process.