Disturbance engulfs me. This was not like last time in the movies or the books. Is this the real Wonderland? The sky is an intense garnet with wisps of grey in some areas. A canvas painting would be the ideal metaphor. There are no winged beings, the flowers are shrivelled up and pallid, there is a film of grime on the pathway. There is a supernatural aura haunting the land. I glimpse down at what I’m wearing. My once cyan, classy dress is now crimson with ebony roses prudently elaborated on there. Near the bottom is a white sheen trailing on the floor. It is ripped at the shoulder in a fashioned way. I notice there is a scratch at my shoulder. Oops. I’m so clumsy. The dress is so striking and picturesque, it doesn’t look real. I graze my ha- wait my hair. Hastily I rummage through my hair. Increasing my shock, it turns back red. It’s not blood the feel is not sticky enough: I think its dye. Well I hope: this is not like Britain. This is Wonderland for pity’s sake. My hair is also shorter. It used to be a curly, brown waist-length possession but is now a ruby, shaggy pixie cut. I screech intensely into the obscurity and the resonance of the waves vaporise beyond the desolate land. Panicking, I cascade to the floor sobbing. I don’t know how long I’m there but I know that I’ve cried so much my head pounds but not enough to forget what I’m crying about. After some time, my attention is snared by the faint mumble of paces. I rub my sore, blood-shot eyes. I listen for some time, still cemented onto the floor. They come closer every second; there must be millions of them. The noise is now vibrating in my head. They’re nearly here. I prepare for death, saying my last prayers. They’re finally here and I gaze upwards. My eyes widen. 290Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVzHTkWyVoL
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