“There are all other kinds of parts of the world that we can’t view yet, that we don’t know about.“
“Welcome To Wonderland”
Fiction. Based on a True Moment of Madness.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional
There are many different ways to get to your work: that way, this way, wrong way, GO BACK. Wake in the morning to put on your mask – don’t forget the hat from the Hatter! – and then sit behind the wheel of your car. It takes a moment or two to know the roads you should take to reach the destination, but it means nothing. The path you want does not exist in this world.
Your mask almost slips. There is no room for reality in this place. You take your time, the hurrier you are the more you are lost, for certain you aren’t late. The day-to-day routine is a trend.
During your drive, the pavement becomes a pathway of grey cobblestones surrounded by a forest. The wolves come to the edge of the path not daring to step onto it, standing among sleeping flowers in the morning sunshine. They are calling out to you – why aren’t you running? Wayward winds ruffle their fur and sing of forgotten nights. Further down the path, a cat lounges in a tree with a purple and blue coat smiling a smile from the fairy tales of childhood madness. He tips his head to you in greeting, eyes bright among the shadows of the leaves. A few wolves run alongside the car. They are trying to call you home.
Reaching your destination, you quickly leap out of the car trying your best not to show any glint of indecency. No hint of pain.
Something blue catches your eye – possibly the blue paint of the car, but you swear you see a caterpillar smoking while perched on the hood. No time to stop and think of the impossible. Impossibilities are not accepted here to mock the fuckery of reality.
Punch the clock with an open hand so no marks are left behind. Do your duties assigned by a manager, orders pass down the food chain where you are trapped at the bottom. The morning includes a daily ritual of how their failures are your fault. Take the blame when there is not enough sugar to pass around the table at tea time.
So, the day begins.
Your brain is numb, mind is going mad, and heart is ripping apart. People enter the shop to purchase their regrets. After some time, you imagine them as crocodiles, snapping their large jaws in a threatening, not-so-threatening, manner. It’s all a lie anyhow, the empty tears streaming down their cheeks for you and this company’s departure. The sad frown on your lips isn’t real. Once or twice a twisted smile reveals itself.
You are at the edge of the rabbit hole, a mere few centimeters from falling, tumbling down; the world demands you explain. You can’t. This mask is unfamiliar to you; you are not yourself.
And every day, the managers continue to put weights on your shoulders. So heavy, that the road remains as pavement on your ride home. It’s cruel how this place sucks you dry of impossibilities: that way, this way, wrong way, GO BACK. Before you leave, you take a moment to place your hat on your head. The madness does not feel so much as madness; rather, it’s you as you truly are, hidden under a mask. Reality is a paradox you think the Hatter might say.