Mad

The sun was setting slowly that night. Soft beams of rose and orange yawned across the ballroom floors and high, open ceilings. The light reflected off the white marble on the walls and floor. Inside the room, a tremendous celebration was being held. A large crowd filled the room, all sorts of curious creatures lined the walls and flittered across the floor. They danced and twirled about the room in dysfunctional patterns and dizzying paces. Merry laughter reached the peak of the ceiling and traveled through all the castle’s grounds.

At one of the tables, a woman with skin and hair like moonlight was talking to a hare.

“Frabjous Day. Can’t believe it was only a year ago today,” the words floated from her blood red lips the way the steam rose up from their tea. She folded her hands neatly in front of her on the crisp, white tablecloth; a mystifying smile graced her sharply angled face.

The March Hare slammed his cup down, shattering it and causing tea to seep into the tablecloth and his tattered, blue coat. He grasped his ears firmly and pulled on them sharply, pushing back in his chair with a howl of, “Oh Frabjous Day! Callooh! Callay!”

Around them, the merry dancing of all the other inhabitants of Wonderland carried on. No one ever took notice of the Hare’s unusual outburst. Why, in Wonderland, they weren’t that unusual to behold at all.

“Yes,” the Queen chuckled airily, “if only the Hatter were here to celebrate with us.” She smiled dreamily about the room.

The March Hare jittered in his chair anxiously. He murmured words quickly to himself, pulling on his ears harder than before. It was an unspoken rule to never mention the Hatter, or his current state of mind, in Wonderland.

“What was that?” asked the Queen, her voice seemed to float from her chest like a balloon.

“He’s mad!” shouted the March Hare, his eyes wide with fear.

“Yes, he never was quite the same after Alice left,” the Queen speculated, her normally spacey eyes filled with a deep concern.

“Mad! Mad! Mad!” shouted the Hare, bouncing in his chair and out across the room. He zipped through the crowded dancing hall and landed back amongst the table, scattering its contents on the floor.

And the dancing continued.

A few floors above, the pink light was falling across a bright, red carpet clustered with stains of what appeared to be tea. Wallpaper curled at the ends where it had been torn. Inside the room, a man with wild, round, green eyes and frazzled, red hair stood facing the wall. He peeled back some of the lose paper, watching as it trailed up off the wall. Cloth, and ribbons, and hats were strewn across the floor. A sewing machine was turned on its side at the edge of a broken table. Pin-needles were clustered about the room or sticking out of odd places, such as the walls and chairs, and even the man’s hair.

He was mumbling frantically to himself. Or it might have been to the wall. Perhaps he was coaxing the paper to come to him, to stay with him. It was hard to tell in these days. He was, of course, mad. Not to say he hadn’t always been mad.

But now...

Well, now he was just gone. He was as distant as the blond haired girl with curious eyes and a sense of adventure. As far away as the girl who had chosen the real world over him. She had left him. She had let him go mad.

And why couldn’t she have stayed? It was wonderful here, magical even. Animals could talk, and time didn’t exist, and nothing was really what it seemed. It was everything anyone could possibly dream of. Why did she go? Why couldn’t she stay?

It was something the Hatter could never understand, would never understand. He was trapped. Every day was Frabjous Day for him. And every day was a tragedy. He was always reliving it. He’d see her swing the sword, blond hair catching it the wind and armor flashing the sun-rays, as she cut off the beast’s head. He’d see her take the small bottle that was the key to her return home, the key to her leaving him. He’d hear her tell him she couldn’t stay.

“Why?” the voice was soft at first, like a small child awakening from a bad dream.

And then louder cries, “Why? Why? Why?”

Until the room was full of a sad, desperate sound, like the child searching frantically for his mother, discovering the nightmare isn’t over yet.

His nightmare would never end.

He jolted back suddenly. The wallpaper gently fluttered to the floor. He turned sharply on his heel and moved towards the window, kicking up a bigger mess than before. He stopped at the window, glassy eyes cutting through his reflection. Then they focused in on it, and he began to talk.

“Have I gone mad? Alice?” he whimpered, “Have I gone mad?”

The sadness in his eyes lifted, and was quickly replaced with angry red. He ripped out his hair, crying out in all his agony. Turning around, he barred his teeth, and grabbed the closest thing to him. A few moments later, the sewing machine burst through the glass and tumbled onto the walk way outside.

The Hatter stared after it, then slowly lifted his hat off his head and dropped it out the broken window.

In the ballroom, the dancers carried on, even as the shrieking from several floors above weaved its way through the music. It wasn’t odd here. Here, everyone knew the Mad Hatter was truly mad. Not even the crash of the sewing caused any heads to turn, or the hat that followed it a few moments later.

Glass fell onto the pathway outside the large windows. They caught the light as they fell and in doing so, also caught the Queen’s attention.

“Oh look,” she laughed to the Hare, “it’s raining!”