AN: Yes. I live. And once again, I post a random one-shot that has nothing to do with a big story. And for those who were reading LoTU, I'm sorry for taking it down. It was just annoying me and all that fun stuff.

This is based a one-shot by one of my friends (Ryu) and I'm thanking him sincerely for inspiration. I decided to take a whack at horror and gore and creepy stuff, so review and tell me what you think!

Escape From Wonderland

The smell of a rancid toilet I never use. The sight of a dark, dank prison cell. The feel of itching cotton and sweaty leather, mixed in with cold steel and rotting flesh. The taste of the salty air through the small spaces of my mask. I can hear the screaming; me fellow inmates suffering under interrogation, and agonizing in their drugged-up stupor.

I smile.

How I long to tear this place apart block by block; how I long to feel slick, hot and tantalizing blood sliding between my fingers and down my throat… How I long to see the gruesome glow of every spirit in this place as they slowly die.

I twist in my jacket a few times. Perhaps every one of them has been used on me at least once; I know all of their weak points. I feel the muscle and sinew rip from the bone as I twist my arm out of place to get it out of the jacket. Buckle by buckle, I release myself from my restraints. I remove my mask, licking my lips to wipe away the taste of morning mouth. No one’s looking… No prying eyes of a March Hare or the penetrating shriek of a violent Mad Hatter as can be seen or heard.

I feel the cold stone of the floor caress my skin. How I might actually miss this place, I think.

I crawl over to the lock, my eyes flicking around every dark corner for perhaps the slightest chance of a human orb spying into my business. Unlike most asylums, this place has no courtesy towards its captives. This places is for the demons society had given up on. Perhaps it was I that was indeed the damndest of them all.

I slide my finger nail into the lock, and though it cracks ever-so-slightly, the latch opens with a slight click remaining unheard to mortal ears. My eyes scan the dark bowels. Curiouser and curiouser still, I can see the outline of the small white rabbit, perhaps late again for his meeting with the queen, bolting down the hallway in a flurry of a frenzy.

The card guards are asleep at their posts; easily I may escape unnoticed under their sleeping eyes.

A Spade of Three stirs slightly as I step cautiously out of my cell. I pause only briefly for it was only a slight itch on his nose. As I watch his breathing, I try not to allow my thoughts to get the better of my. Yet… I am compelled to see, if only, just one single drop of his blood against his own skin… Just to compare his disgusting pallor to the beauty of the true crimson life that flows through him.

But I must not stray lest I get myself caught again.

Slowly, I creep, making not a noise. I steal away a few glances in the other cells… How odd, how dull and miserable to be trapped forever in here. If not only to escape to give way to chase… Why live here at all?

Truly, it is depressing how I have not met a worthy opponent in all my traverses out of this place. I wouldn’t mind being captured in a fair match; yet it is seldom, and drugs and gases of all colours and sorts are an easy way to put me out.

Then I see, with my own two eyes, the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle standing watch at the gate. The Turtle remains slouched in sleep, yet the Gryphon is ever-watchful. If not for the shadows, I might have been spied and captured already.

I crouch deeper into shadow, hoping upon hope to conceal myself to prolong this little game. My sight grazes over a vent, its rusty bars spewing the cold air from its innards, and decide that this is my best means of transport. Bolt by bolt with my chipped fingernail I unscrew, and the tiny rabbit hole opens itself to me. I lay on my belly, and worm my way inside.

Perhaps the decision to navigate the small tunnels was not my best idea. I fear if I become stuck, my whole plan will become naught. I crawl up one shaft, just to lead it into another. Oh, how dreadfully useless this is. Perhaps I should have taken on the Turtle and the Gryphon head on myself. But nay, pushing forward might be fruitful after it all.

Then light comes flooding into my view. Down below are the Gryphon and the Turtle, whiling away their time idly.

I smirk in the dark, and with correct calculations, I remove the bars and with the skill of the Cheshire Cat, hang loose from the vent, my calves hanging to the opening for dear life. Still, I am unnoticed, and this night I hope to taste the blood of the winged bird that lay not two feet from me.

Oh, the desire, the craving, the incessant twitch is utterly unbearable...!

I let go, and land on him, my claws digging into his flesh, the scarlet liquid loosening itself from the vein in his neck.

He cries out, and the Turtle immediately opens his eyes and his mouth in silent screams.

Ah, what beauty in the life beneath the flesh… My desires fulfilled, I allow my tongue to sample the running liquid. Bittersweet at best, like the poignant wine in the evening or a taste of utter defeat in the face of chaos.

The Gryphon slumped to the floor, and I jumped from his broad shoulders. He slunk down, rested his head, and was no more.

But then the Mock Turtle will not go down without a fight. I stride to him and watch as he struggles with the slick iron shooting bar in his hands, tight and sturdy, gleaming in the pale orange light.

How very dire he must be to resort to such a crude weapon.

Having no time to pull the trigger, I launch myself onto the weapon, pry it loose from him, and fling it to the side, out of his reach.

With nothing to rely on, the poor Turtle stares at me with fearful eyes, his jaws quivering. Ah, the look I so enjoy. Perhaps when a man has nothing but his own bare fists, his true face is shown.

Fright.

Terror.

Despair.

Truly an assortment could be seen.

The Turtle backed away, his features growing worse by the second, and as he turned to swift himself away, I caught hold of an arm.

Oh, how he looks at me. Such distasteful fear… And yet, it swallows me whole…

I pull him close, and smelled the salt of his skin, the brine of his sweat. This Turtle was so young… still practically a baby. I yearn to taste him, if only once.

I bite into his neck, a sort of vampiric prose, and taste his blood. Sweeter than the old Gryphon’s, it fills my mouth with ecstasy. He squeaks, his eyes shutting tightly under my force. How very sensual, those human sounds he makes. The poor Turtle believes he’s a normal human being, to make sounds such as those.

After sampling him, I let him go into the floor, his eyes fluttering, heavy with the thought of sleep.

Still, no one has found me.

Seeing the turtle as no threat, I creep further into the Gardens of Dismay until I find a small room. I hear the yelling of a stubborn old Queen of Hearts against a Tweedledee and a Tweedledum. How they try to explain my escape as a mistake, but she yells all the louder.

Really, I must suppress a chortle.

They run from the room and I sneak behind the opened door as to not be seen as they trump down the hallway from whence I came, perhaps running from an old black Crow.

The bulbous Queen walks out as well, pushing her glasses up further on her nose; a nervous habit at best.

Pulling out a clip-board, perhaps a list of her beheadings, she stalks down another hallway in the opposite direction.

I peer after, and once she is gone, I chase after her.

How very whipped the King must be, putting up with an old hag like her.

She stumbles a few times, and I must pause as to not be heard. Synchronizing steps with a Neanderthal can be very toilsome, but it must be done if I am to keep up this game at least a few minutes longer.

I can hear a mad tea party, and there I see them: the March Hare and the Mad Hatter. The old Hatter pours a cup of steaming liquid for the Queen, who slumps at his side. What a stupor she must be in, putting up with me. I smile at the thought, outsmarting such a royal pain as her.

The Hare takes a bite from a crumpet instead of a plate (so out of character, that move is) and discusses with the Queen what should be done. I suppose, with their casual talk, they’re unaware of the poor Gryphon and Turtle.

Suddenly, my joy is thwarted with a pain in my back. My eyes turn to see Tweedledee (or perhaps Tweedledum, for really, it is hard to tell them from one another) with his hands enclosed around a needle, jutting from my back. Oh, to be brought down by such a simpleton!

I lash out as I feel my strength fade, and he pulls away just as quickly, his eyes wide in fear.

The serum quickly winds up among my other cells, and I feel my lids growing heavy. How very quaint, yet how very sad. Even the most melancholy wish to live, to save that life beneath the flesh.

And yet I tumble back into reality in an instant. Curious, I may say, that the Queen of Hearts looms over me, her brow furrowed in terrible fury.

I feel the itch of the cotton again, and the taste of the salty air. I see the familiar surroundings, and yet I feel not dismay nor pleasure. I feel… hollow.

She proclaims loudly to not try to escape the place any longer, as she adjusts her rimmed glasses, and tells me that I have added another five years sentence.

She shakes her head, and as the Queen leaves, she utters that I am a monster.

I am not the monster. I am simply poor sane Alice trapped inside all of this insanity.