Alice's Narrative

Introductory Text.

60th Post

Posted 18 May 2016 at 18:28:05 EDT

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> Ha hum. I love waking up in the morning to the smell of fresh biscuits. The warm smell fills my dreams, a smell like friends and home and happiness. I wake up to see the sun so bright and lovely in my window. Hello day! How are you? Every day is bright and cheery when you share a house with your best friends. I can hear them downstairs singing and having fun. After a long night of spooky old dreams, it's good to be awake again in the cheery deary sunlight.
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> I unlock my bedroom door and go out into the hall. Some of my friends have left fresh piles of biscuits in the hallway, several different kinds. Wonderful! I breathe in the smell and make chirpy little sounds of glee. Heeheehee. Another day!
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> Chester Barrington comes up the stairs, looking very handsome and somber in his tuxedo.
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> "Oh, Chester!" I sing. "How is the gentleman today?"
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> Chester nods to me, gruff but debonair. "Proceedings are afoot, Madam Alice. Proceedings are afoot," he grumbles and makes his way down the hallway. That Chester. So self-serious.
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> On the stairway, Brett Turlingshire and Mansy Fairworth are in each other's arms, a lover's embrace.
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> "Oh, dear!" I cry. "I'm afraid I've interrupted your tryst!"
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> "Oh, madam, nonsense. This is no tryst. This is a destined love affair!" Brett proclaims in his ringing voice. He looks dashing in his fine, striped coat.
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> "Brett, darling, Madam Alice doesn't want to hear all that gooey talk," Mansy says in her sassy southern accent.
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> "I'll leave you two be," I say lifting the hem of my nightgown and hurrying past them.
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> When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear Brett murmur, "I wish the Madam would find a destined love affair of her own. She is a noble woman and deserves somebody to treat her well."
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> "You just worry about treating me well," Mansy purrs, nuzzling against his cheek.
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> I scurry off before they catch me listening. In the downstairs parlor, Raymond Decks, Montrose Pardonsmith and Elise Rapier are having tea together. The smell of biscuits fills the room. A fresh heap of toffee-colored scones covers the coffee table. A wonderful selection of pastries lies in the corner, and several of the chairs contain more treats.
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> "Hello dearies! How are we today?"
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> "Can't complain," Raymond says.
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> "Splendid!" Sir Pardonsmith intones.
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> Elise merely lets out a little sigh.
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> "Elise, are we not feeling well?" I ask, coming over to where she is perched on the arm of the couch.
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> "Eh. Should we be? Life is but a vague dream which disrupts the sleep of death," she murmurs in her smoky French accent.
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> "Oh, Elise. Must you be such an existentialist?"
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> "Je ne suis pas un existentialiste," she mutters, getting up and stalking off.
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> "Poor Elise," I say as she leaves the room.
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> "She is affected by that peculiar continental ennui," Sir Pardonsmith observes. "I say she needs a dose of sturdy American optimism."
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> "Her birthday is coming soon. Perhaps we should throw her a party," I suggest.
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> "Ha! A party for Elise? That would go over like a Bar Mitzvah for Goebbels," Raymond says.
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> "Oh, Raymond!" I say, tousling his orange hair. "Well, we'll have to figure out something for her. I don't like her moping about."
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> "She's an inveterate mope. There's no changing her," Raymond says.
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> "You may be right, sir," I say, sighing. Well, c'est la vie. Not everybody can be as happy as I am.
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> Some years ago, I was much like Elise. Down the dumps. A real gray cloud. Then I met a lovely young woman who happened to be passing through my neighborhood. Her name was Angelica. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed the delights of society, but Angelica had a very mature, soothing presence, despite her youth. I lived a large house where my family had once resided but was now empty, so I asked her to stay with me. She accepted just like that. Can you imagine it? Two strangers just making a home together? It must have been kismet.
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> She was my precious angel treasure. Absolutely heaven sent. I had been something of an existentialist myself, disbelieving in God and thinking his creation a cruel trap for human prey. But then he saw it fit to bring Angelica into my life, and I never doubted him again. I found her company such a balm that I decided to open my home to whoever needed a place to stay. Singletons, couples, whole families have stayed with me. Many children have been born in this house.
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> Though dear sweet Angelica has long since passed way, her friendship is still a daily gift to me. For on the day I met her, I made a choice to simply not feel sadness or worry or fear ever again. And I haven't. Do you think it impossible? It is possible, if you simply surround yourself with loved ones. That's the secret.
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> With all these thoughts in mind, I walk into the kitchen to see Reginald Strongton, Linda Mercychowder and Marshall Futz clamoring for their breakfast.
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> "Madam, I'm famished!" Reginald cries.
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> "Oh, dear Madam! We starve! We want! We waste away!" Linda says in a tremulous voice.
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> "Oh, mercy. I left you with a kingly feast last night. Have you eaten it all?" I ask.
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> "It was not us. We had not a bite. It was that Chester Barrington, the scoundrel!" Reginald cries. "He is voracious and utterly selfish. I found him down here, helping himself to your generosity, and when I tried to serve myself the smallest morsel, he attacked me. Attacked me, madam! My nose still smarts."
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> "Oh, that Chester does have an appetite. But I find it hard to believe such a gentleman would attack you."
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> "Eh, I am on the verge of swooning," Marshall croaks.
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> "Alright, dears, let's have ourselves a proper breakfast," I say.
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> I get a bag of cuisine from the cabinet and pour it into china bowls for Reginald, Linda, and Marshall and myself. I clear off the love-biscuits that somebody left on the kitchen table, and we all sit down to eat. My little friends immediately proceed with chowing down, and I am about to follow suit, but I notice something that brings me a wonderful thrill.
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> There is a stranger standing in the doorway to the kitchen. I have never seen her before. She appears to have snuck into the house alone. She stands there, tense and alert, her yellow eyes taking in the scene. I am breathless. She is beautiful, extraordinary, exquisite. She reminds me of my sweet Angelica. Oh, lovely day! I am about to have a new friend!
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### **Through the Portal**

Alice's Narrative Part 02

62nd Post

Posted 19 May 2016 at 19:12:39 EDT

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> I approached the Oily Ones' hiding place with subtlety. Alert. Not disturbing. Letting everything flow through me. I did not search for anything, but allowed all to reveal itself. The smells were disturbing. Awful. I could smell our kind, the mingling scents of multitudes. They seemed to have marked everything without any regard for each other.
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> In front of the portal sat two of our kind. They were monstrously round and swollen, their form distorted. Dull eyes followed me without curiosity as I approached. Even as I came within the dangerous range, they showed no interest. Was it a trap to bring me in close?
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> They did not attack. I passed them and came to the portal. Slowly, I pushed my head through the folding threshold. The inside was utterly bizarre, made of mostly box-like shapes in arrangements I could hardly comprehend. There was no grass, no trees, nothing belonging to the form of the world. Instead there were straight, flat shapes folded around to cover everything, above and below, all sides. In the distance, some our kind were walking around within this odd space, as slow and swollen as the ones outside.
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> The smell was worse than outside, even more confusing. I saw and smelled uncovered droppings everywhere. To not cover droppings was unsubtle. It was a moral outrage. Still, I pushed through the portal and entered the space. The ground was hard and slippery and smelled of legions. Everything was silent, a deeper silence than I had ever known. I knew now that I was cut off from the world for the first time in my life. I was alone.
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> I moved forward. I wanted to shut out the smells and sounds, but I let them pass through me. I was terrified, but I let the terror pass through me. I wondered if I was being unsubtle, if I was disturbing the world, if I was inviting deadly misfortune. But I felt no insight on this matter. The answer would make itself known soon enough.
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> As I moved deeper into the space, I came upon a giant Oily One.
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> l call her Angelica because she is Angelica. There's no doubt about it. Oh, she looks different this time, but I think Angelica will look different every time she comes to me. She is also much shyer this time. Such a shy little thing! But the way she moves, that pure, lovely way -- there's no mistaking it. It's Angelica again. How wonderful! How lovely! Would you think I'm a silly old biddy if I started crying? If I got on my knees right then and there and started thanking God? How he is great. How he has seen fit to bless me.
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> I have been investigating this space, and I have found much confusion and monstrosity but no answers. There is a single oily one which stays here, as well as many of our kind. All of them, the oily one and our kind, are monstrously swollen and distorted. The oily one in particular reeks of corruption and disease and death. She cries to me like a lost whelp, but I keep my distance from her. I avoid the others of my kind as well.
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> This space has many spaces within itself. Each of these spaces holds a thousand mysteries. It is everything I can do to not be overwhelmed, to let the mystery flow through me. Darkness has come and left, and I am terribly hungry. The oily one comes to me with food, wonderful food, but I am afraid to take it.
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> I wonder, what exactly am I looking for? I am looking for some answer to the mystery of the oily ones, but what form will this take? I cannot know. All around me are forms I do not recognize. I must not look for anything. I will simply become a part of this place and let the answer show itself to me.
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> Angelic has been here for over a day, but she hasn't spoken to me yet. I think I understand why. The last time she came to me, I was the shy one. I was the one who was afraid of everything, afraid of the world, in despair because of the first time she left. Now I have been restored, and she is the shy one. It is my turn to help her, to give back. I've tried to give her some of our cuisine, but she hides. I don't think she's eaten anything since she found her way in here. Poor thing.
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> Hunger forced me to come close to the oily one. She set down some food and I took it, keeping an eye on her. She has an awful, fleshy face and giant, pale eyes. She often sings like a bird. Abomination!
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> It was the first time eating the oily ones' food since my kitten died. Would this food kill me? Only time will tell. My form commanded me to eat, so I ate. The food was absolutely wonderful, as the oily ones' food always is. I am trying to follow the art of subtlety, but there can be no subtlety in this unholy den of madness.
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> I believe I have investigated almost every place within this giant place. There are many portals in here which lead to various small places. They open and shut in different configurations. But I have watched them carefully and gone into almost every small place, and found no answers.
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> But there is one place I have not yet gone. It is perhaps the only place yet unseen by me. It is the place where the oily one goes when darkness comes. I think she sleeps there. I heard her making strange singing sounds from within, frightening sounds. She keeps the portal closed at all times. It only opens for a moment when she goes in and out. I have tried to get a look inside, but have not been successful.
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> I believe there must be some answer within this space. Everything has a form, every form is a story, every story makes sense. There must be some reason for the oily ones, for their random kindness, for their random cruelty. There must be an answer, and that answer must reside within the hidden space, for it does not reside anywhere else.
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> I will wait. I will go inside.
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> Sweet Angelica is starting to warm to me. We eat together. She's still very skittish, but she shows up promptly at dinnertime and eats like a little lady. She doesn't chat with me, but I think she will start to soon. I ask Linda Mercychowder to be Angelica's special little friend and show her around the house. Of course, Linda responds with, "Oh, Madame, I'm too busy with my modeling career! Can't somebody else do it?" Meanwhile, the little strumpet flirts all day with Chester Barrington, but that's another story.
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> The oily one came to me with food, and I found myself crying out to her, as if I was a little kitten again, as if she was my mother. What has happened to me? How could I regard this horrid creature as my mother? I knew that I would have to become a part of this abomination to unravel its mysteries, but this is too much. I want to leave, to go back to the world, to go back to the fresh air and light. I must gain access to the hidden space soon, or I will go mad. I am losing myself.
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> Little Angelica finally talked to me! Now she talks all the time. "Mother, mother! I'm back!" she says. "Oh, I've missed you so much! But I knew you would find me again! You will find me every time!" Oh, it's joyful. She's still shy and doesn't let me hug her, but to hear her voice again is such a blessing.
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> I notice her following me to my bedroom every night, so tonight I let her in. None of the other ladies or gentlemen are allowed in there, but this is Angelica, so she can sleep with me. She stays in the corner of the room until I fall asleep, even though I sprinkle cuisine all over the bed. I hope that soon we can sleep together like we used to.
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> I finally gained access to the inner space, the space which was to contain all the answers to the mystery which has tormented me for so long. I suppose I have not properly practiced the art of subtlety. I have pushed my way into a forbidden space, snooping and seeking and striving and upsetting things. I suppose it is only fitting that I was greeted with such misfortune.
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> There were no answers in the hidden space. None at all. Just more weird shapes and bad smells. There was nothing that seemed of any significance. I discovered nothing at all.
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> And so the oily ones remain as much as mystery to me as ever. Why are they so monstrous? What is the reason for their kindness? Why do they give us food? Why do we call to them like mothers?
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> I guess I will never know. I have fled that awful space and am gratefully among the trees and grasses again. I will never go back there.
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> Angelica is gone. I haven't seen her for two weeks. She stayed with me in my bedroom one night, and I really thought we were getting closer, and then the next day she just disappeared. How could she leave like that?
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> I want to die. I want to die. I can't want to die. I told myself I wouldn't feel this way anymore. I just can't feel this way. No more. I need to call my sister. I need help. What's happened to me? Please God.
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> I've been lying in bed all day, weeping. All around the room there are pictures of the very first Angelica, my darling girl. In the pictures, she's not sick. She's eating ice cream, learning to swim, playing cards. I showed them to the new Angelica, but she couldn't understand... After all... she's just a cat.
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> To hunt prey, you must simply become an ordinary part of the world. Look around, my darling kitten. What is happening right now? Nothing at all. Yet the leaves rustle, the grass sways, the birds call, the gnats dance. All of this is just part of the world.
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