Status: Finito.

Alice Never Was

Alice Was

Alice never was quite the quietest girl, her voice and ideas normally rising among the ones of those around her. She had never learned to maintain the calm and sweet demeanor that her mother had hoped she would grew into.

“It’s just a phase, mother,” Margaret would say to appease her. “She’ll grow into a fine lady one day.” Margaret was never quite convinced of this, of course; she knew her sister and she knew that this “phase” was more than that. This was who Alice was.

Alice never was the cleanest girl; nobody would have believed her wild stories had she been wearing those cleaned and polished shoes her mother had bought her for her birthday, or had she allowed her to cut her hair shorter.

“It needs awful cutting, dear!” But Alice would ran as fast as she could to hide in one of those rabbit holes that took her to another world. She would later emerge from the forest, dress covered in mud, hair still unkempt, face, arms, and knees scratched and smeared with dirt.

Alice never was the realistic child her friends had wished for, often spinning wild tales of white rabbits with petticoats and endless tea parties. “You are lying,” they would tell her. “Alice the liar,” they would tease her. Alice, however, didn’t seem to mind, because in her mind still lived the lands that she had visited while her friends held those boring tea parties.

Alice never was one to remain in peaceful rest; she would often be found daydreaming at the meadow, where her and her sister would enjoy the sunlight every afternoon. “You daydream too much.” Margaret was found usually flipping pages of books without drawings, those that Alice found boring. “You're not even paying attention to what I am saying.” The books that Margaret liked were old, probably history books with dull details of dates that were long lost in Time’s grasp.

Whatever the conversation was, every afternoon Alice would be lost in her own thoughts, not listening to her sister. Alice’s blue eyes were fixated on the sky. “Sorry,” her little sister would sigh in reply and then she would ask the most unusual questions. One day Alice had asked her, “Do you ever wonder about what clouds taste like?”

Alice never was a common girl, Margaret learned that since that day that Alice came rushing to her, shouting and singing as she made her way from the meadow to her house. “Margaret! Do you know how is a raven like a writing desk?!” Alice had been covered in mud, twigs hanging from her golden hair.

Alice never was satisfied with simple answers; questions were her way of entertaining herself, but she asked for too much, for her questions could never really be answered due to the ridiculousness of the ones she formulated.

The first thing Margaret noticed was that she was bleeding from a cut on her leg. Alice didn’t seem to notice as she proceeded to tell her the oddest tale she had ever heard, one about white rabbits, tea parties, mad queens, and cats that disappeared on thin air.

“I always ponder about what's runs through that mind of yours,” Margaret replied to her little sister's curious question, looking sternly at her. “What do you daydream about all the time?” she asked as she tried to remove the twigs and mud.

“You must be a daydreamer yourself to know. It takes one to know one.” Alice smiled at her and then left with the same joy she had arrived, singing a song about lobsters.

Alice never was what others believed her or wanted her to be. Alice was Alice, simple as that; the Alice of the wild tales and unkempt golden hair, the Alice of the dried up mud and scratches on her knees, the Alice of the torn up dresses and missing shoes. Alice was Alice, the one with much muchness.
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