Ravens, Writing Desks and Alice

“I’ve finished everything here, lets all move along a space.”

The March Hare’s voice brought the Mad Hatter out of his thoughts. He’d been thinking about her again, not surprising as she was all he ever seemed to think about anymore. Her and the riddle, and nothing else. The two thoughts plagued his mind at all times, giving him no room to think of anything else, or to do anything else other than exist in the outside world.

The March Hare had noticed, and was getting increasingly frustrated whenever he tried to have a conversation with the Hatter. He was on the verge of giving up. Even the Dormouse, the sleepy innocent creature that put too much faith into anyone that it met, had seemingly had enough of him. The loss of the friendship of the Dormouse he didn’t mind so much; he was only really good for singing the occasional song and telling the odd story, and if he really wanted a song or a story he could do it himself. No, it was the March Hare that he hated upsetting. Ever since the day when they had argued, he could sense his friend's sanity slipping away slowly, as dreaming and waking seemed to converge on the Hare all at once, whilst feeling his own start to go. He was clinging on with the tips of his fingers – and he knew it – and he would like to spend as much time as possible with his friend when he was in his right mind.

Or maybe, he would think on particularly bad days, maybe he had let go a long time ago, and he would be forced to think of her and the riddle for the rest of his life, just her and the riddle forever. Even in his most sane moments, which were becoming frequently few and far between, he knew this was a possibility. He realised he should be sad, or mad, or frightened or something, but it was as if his thoughts wouldn’t even allow him that.

“Hatter! I said move along a place!” He did what he was told quietly, his shaking fingers reaching out to the clean cup in front of him and grasping it. He waited obediently as the March Hare poured hot tea into it. As he waited, he looked over to the left of him, and saw the five or six clean spaces left. He wondered what would happen when they got to the dirty plates that they had used before, but he guessed that by the time they had got around to the dirty dishes they’d be too far gone to notice. Shuddering at the thought, he took a hesitant sip.

It hadn’t always been that way. Not even that long ago – or it could have been years, he had lost all sense of time – it had been the other way around. The Mad Hatter had been the one to tell the March Hare what to do, and most of the time the March Hare had listened. He’d been the one to pour out the March Hare’s tea, at least, he thought he had. Memories and dreams blurred so easily together in his mind, he couldn’t tell which was which anymore. He wondered when it had all started to go wrong (even more so than it had been already) but he already knew. Blaming her, though, was not an option. She hadn’t meant it, he knew that, it was just her presence alone that had clouded his thoughts.

Her. Alice. He remembered everything about the day when she came and sat down at their table uninvited, and the March Hare had immediately started to question what she was doing. If it wasn't for what was going through his head he would have been doing the same. From the minute he saw her, he had the biggest feeling that she would be the one to solve the riddle. The feeling had seemed to start in his chest, and had spread so that it the electric, pulsing feeling coursed through his whole body.

At this point he had only thought of the riddle occasionally – a fun thing to do when he was bored – but as he stared at the small, blonde haired, blue eyed child in front of him, it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” He had said. The minute the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. There were things you said when you first met someone. ‘Hello’ or ‘how do you do?’, you don’t just throw a riddle at them without even introducing yourself! But he didn’t correct himself or take his words back, he had to know the answer.

The memory of her eyes lighting up never failed to make his own do the same. She knew the answer! He had thought. Look at how excited she is! But it seemed that it was just excitement at the thought of solving the riddle. As the moments passed and no answer came to the girl, he began to get frustrated. His hope and excitement at the thought of it finally, finally being solved faded with every passing second.

She wasn’t going to get it. He had been so sure! Why wasn’t she getting it? She had to know!

He’d hid his crushing disappointment well, he thought. A sip of tea and a forced smile as he told Alice that he, too, had ‘no idea’ covered everything up perfectly. But no matter how well he had covered it up, it was still there threatening to pull him under. He’d pushed her away then, made her leave, knowing that he couldn’t hang on for much longer.

That was the moment. Right at the point when he watched her retreating off into the woods, her blue dress swaying in the wind and his stomach churning violently, that was the moment that he knew he couldn’t rest until he had worked out the solution.

But the solution never came.

Absentmindedly he swirled the nearly cold liquid around and around his teacup. The March Hare was trying to get his attention but he was only vaguely aware of the fact. His mind was drifting off again, back to the riddle, back to her.

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

“I don’t know. I don’t know! I don’t know!

“Alice, where are you!?”