The Next Gen: Alice and Wendy

Onwards and upwards.

As winter carried on for a bit and begrudgingly faded, Spring popped in for five minutes before promptly slapping hands with Summer and said “Laterz!”. Unemployment took a rather fortuitous sharp turn and knocked off the first two letters in the process. Bob Ross was a genius with his “Happy Little Accidents” bit.

The journey continues.  Through the spirits of Braga and Rishi, my first beloved creatures from the dark, emerge another duo of equal displeasure.

I assume their names must be Alice and Wendy, as they are the only ones that came to me when they were complete. A little conventional, but they seem to be fine with that.

As I molded their skin, punctured their eyes, and stitched their clothing, I suppose I had something of an idea of what they would become.  However, the outcome was truly greater than what I envisaged.  The reality was better than the idea. And though that’s a hard shell to shuck, it seems true in every facet of life, thus far

One slight sidebar and a creepy shout out: I had, in the past, ventured onto a website called “Fix My Street”.  It was through one visit that led me onto, what I’m sure the entire world knew about before me, Nextdoor, a way of engaging people in your community and posting things of note. The whole thing is somewhat odd, but I get it. We no longer speak to our neighbors anymore so we use an app to figure out what’s going on in the neighborhood.  Mostly, people had things to sell, or crimes to speak of, but I became aware of a project that a group of my neighbors were collectively working on called  “W- Nature Reserve”.  As a “Looooocal”, I was very familiar with the area they were “reserving”.

Along a certain road, a number of very large trees were cut down, once shielding a cluster of row houses from the street, in order to make way for the nature. What seems to have happened since this tree slaughter, a nice pathway has been made for people to dump their trash in an even more secluded spot. Magic!

Anyhow, I did manage to get a large bundle of fabric from some very pleasant lady a way down. This has been very useful to me so I cannot completely dis the whole thing. I’m sure, once again, “Nature” will prevail and someone will cut down the pile of trash now growing where those majestic trees once did.

Now that summer is in and here to stay, so is the rot. Back home, I was very keenly aware of things like manure, rotting animals, hay, horse musk, and so on. Occasionally, venturing down certain wide avenues in this city, I am privy to the lovely earthy scent of horse shit and this makes me very happy. It has been a while since I’ve seen a John Deer, but this will suffice.  But lately, traversing in and around my little area, through alleyways, over the hill and behind buildings, I can smell a smell that I can only assume is the entirety of all the world’s evils concentrated in one spot. I refer you to Ghostbusters. This shit is real.

Sidebar over.

After Wendy and Alice came into this world, one drop of blood at a time, don’t think Frank in the attic from Hellraiser- think very rusty sewing skills, so too did their story. Strange and humble beginnings to unknown endings. I can only offer you their past; their future belongs to someone else. Not me.  I simply cannot have a house full of dolls. My sanity will not stand for it. 

Dolls available https://folksy.com/shops/VKHornby

 You have in advance my sincerest apologies for making a mockery of grammar, spelling, and story-telling in general. 

And now that you've been warned, the first installment, I present you with "Alice".

With Love and Regrets,

-J

__________________________________

 Alice

It started so long ago with Braga and Rishi. Bringing to the world their alien, mystifying ways of unknown origin and strange magic.

One of their favored tricks was the flipping of bodies, and may even account for their continued longevity, often turning the victim into the victor and the damned soul into the body of his accuser. Admittedly a fine bit of kit to have at one’s disposal, not so great if you happen to fall into the category of their disfavor.

Over time there were many great feats of physics demonstrated at the hands and foot of Braga and her familiar, Rishi.  Despite their inclination to remain hidden away, many have been witness to the hellish horrors and the divine miracles.  Quite a few have been so lucky as to be the benefactors of their malign or, perhaps, benevolent, justices.

There was one such cat, at least in her previous life, who was salvaged from an enraged mob during the height of the Laughter Prohibition, where tickling your friends would get you a lenient sentence of 716 days in a workhouse, telling a joke would get your family thrown in next to you, and to gurn for the purpose of merry-making, well, your face wouldn’t have a chance to rest before you’re hanged and you would remain that way as your body swung in the putrid summer breeze.

This creature had somehow found itself amidst a crowd gathered outside of a theatre. In order to find some reason to please the residing monarch of the city they were all mocking and teasing the unhappy out of work comics who tragically had no other way to support themselves but to paint their bodies in bright colors while holding a frown for hours on end.  Strangely, the methods by which the teasing crowd chose to belittle those poor souls were the very actions they opposed, and the King fully sanctioned this in order to rid the city of all that was farcical. A slight aside, this all came about as a direct result of the Great Pie Event. 

The King at the time was a relatively new guy. He wasn’t so into his role, but very into the power, prestige, and mostly the money. The problem was the well was quickly drying up and, unwilling to relent in his nasty ways, proposed some kind of war that would require taking a hefty chunk out of everyone’s earning. The war hadn’t really been planned out and he wasn’t terribly concerned about this. No one would have any definitive conclusion for many years after anyway and he could still send a good many men into some foreign village to raid and conquer before anyone got wind of the whole facade. However, he needed to present himself as a willing and able warrior and so he arranged to have a mock tirade in the streets to illustrate to the people of the city what would happen to those who dared to oppose him.

A lifetime of indulgence and very little exercize in the world of martial arts produced a rotund and incompetent fighter. This would have been made immediately apparent had he not the foresight to choose the most disabled and useless knights of the kingdom to act as his mock villains.

Just before the incident, the King was walking down a side street calling out for those who wished to try and have a go while the actor knights crept in corners ready for their cue.  At this particular area of the old city there was a nearly blind and somewhat stupid pastry chef who managed to be oblivious to the whole affair. Having noticed that something was not quite right and hearing the shouts out into the street, pie in hand, he ventured out to have a look. Upon seeing a man with a sword in his hand, and in a very agitated state at that, he proceeded to fling the pie into the direction of the sword yielder’s face and ran away in the opposite direction.

If this wasn’t enough to rile the onlookers, the fact that the King had a profound fear of sweet pies, never mind being thrust in his face, caused him to scream out for many minutes until the knights in waiting found themselves at a loss of what to do and, not having rehearsed this, walked away in complete confusion. The King was left on the street in agony while the whole of the world laughed at his misfortune. A little while later, a young child came out with a rag. After having wiped his face clean making his eyes open, the King raised his sword and severed the head of the child. At this the crowd was made silent. The speech that followed had then led to the Laughter –Is-Punishable-By-The-Most-Hideous-Of-Deaths Declaration.

It might be interesting to point out that the moment before the head was removed from its body, there was nothing funny to the child. It felt sympathy and compassion that could only be felt by the purest of souls. It should also be noted, while gruesome and horrific, it is believed the child felt no pain, and managed to upturn its lips in a smiling fashion long after the removal of the head.

This short aside over, a poor mangy cat was attempting to make its way to satisfy its empty stomach of days, when it had spotted some tray of food that one of the poor actors left for it. At this moment, Braga and Rishi were turning a corner after one of their ‘house flips’ and spied the cat in the midst of this chaos. One woman of 40 or perhaps 23 who had worn out her skirt hem on many of these occasions also saw the cat and decided to treat it in the same manner as the pie-maker did to the King, only there was no king, just a solid oak door.

Braga instantly clocked the woman and kicked Rishi in the face to prepare him.

The switch happened in record time, while the poor feline was in mid air, its head contorted in a most unnatural way and set its gaze upon Braga. The woman who had flung the cat towards the solid oak door and the crushing of its spine shifted her head to Braga at the same time. The woman was the cat, and the cat was the woman. And sad as it is to see any loss, may it be better cushioned by the knowledge the perpetrator suffered the very action it wished to expound upon its victim.  The cat, which was now the woman, departed from the crowd and walked to Braga and Rishi.

Enveloped in Braga’s cape, she was brought to the house, or rather the small mansion, they inhabited in the middle of the city.

Perhaps It should be mentioned the woman, and briefly the cat, did not experience physical pain. Before the body hit the door, her weak heart simply stopped at the point she understood that her life was over. Her actions led to her own downfall, and subsequent death. This was satisfactory to Braga and Rishi, they felt no need to prolong this process. If one is to die, let it be, but there is no pleasure in the long-term anticipation for them, it is rather a sharp justice they seek.

Having been a cat her whole life, and never really knowing her mother, Alice effectively ‘grew up’ in the house of Braga and Rishi. It was to be many months before Alice stopped terrorizing the mice, but it was only after repeated reminders and subsequent good meals she was able to abandon the habit. Soon she even began to make offerings to the mice as though she wished to make up for the nine lifetimes of offences. Braga explained that wasn’t necessary but to live her life as she is now is the best gift to all.

If Braga had ever had a daughter, Alice was she. Internally Rishi felt a bit thwarted but that is a story for another time. Rishi remained dutiful to Braga, and Alice had no qualms about ordering him around, and Rishi fulfilled accordingly.

There came a time Alice had to find herself and go out into the world on her own as her new self. There was great sorrow (nothing from Rishi) but it had to be done. Braga was a solitary creature (Rishi doesn’t count) , and Alice had to learn. With all her newfound tools and ways, she ventured across the land and found her home in a new city. On a strange level, one that you and I could never understand, they were still connected. They spoke in their strange language over the channel and through the air. The ‘child’ appealed to the ‘mother’ in times of confusion and need while mother offered her advice.

Alice was a wonder in a place of delights. Never fully removed from her species, her home was always a place for cats. They’d come and go, some stayed for years, some for just a night on their way to a better life, but never turned down. This was a city of ideas, of progress, and thought.  Her mother gave her the tools and she built an empire.  Every establishment she funded was a haven for freethinkers, scholars, a few men and many cats. She made a special exception for the arts and entertainment. Laughter and insight made its way into peoples lives.

Alice was especially fond of the ladies who entertained. She found them to be of unique qualities. Vagabonds, night stalkers, flesh eaters- they were her bread and butter; her children in need of mothers.

One of the most successful and infamous brothels in the city, the only one without a name out front positioned down side streets far from the hoopla of the main thoroughfares, that was Alice’s residence.

Up until Wendy, it is said Alice never kept the company of any humanoid.  She could always be found at the far end of a fashionable gin house or an up and coming coffee bar encapsulated by her admirers vying for her attention and approval. Only through gazes, nods and unintelligible utterings was she able to articulate her opinions.  No one actually understood, and only through this challenge of communication were they able to figure out what displeased her and they would immediately refrain from speaking about the subject any further.

This caused a high degree of frustration in Alice and she began to feel a particular need to express herself in the common vernacular. This prompted a campaign by her beneficiaries to obtain a person who may be able to translate and teach Alice the language of the day. What better person to do just that than one who beseeches the admiration and affection of the lay people, an actor.

The logistics of the operation was somewhat haphazard. They rounded all of the most popular and highly sought after figures, instructed them to enter an establishment Alice was occupying, and whilst bending their ears backwards, attempt to discover what language she spoke. I can tell you, after many moons, no one succeeded.  Not one person was able to distinguish the language she would mutter to herself albeit extremely loudly, especially after a few of the latest cocktails concoctions. They all would depart with a degree of confusion and dissatisfaction, although still demanded some recompense for their effort.

It was agreed by those who were tasked with the translation project that the probability of Wendy turning up at Madame Gizzard’s Gin Palace at the precise moment that she did provided all the evidence they needed to prove the existence of a higher power. Up until that point, Alice had become increasingly difficult to be around and refused to engage with anyone. The intensity of feelings of loneliness and isolation was keeping her awake all day and she wouldn’t rise from her bed until the morning light. In her former life, she was starved of food. In her new self, she was starved from any meaningful companionship, with the exception of her itinerant brood of felines. 

To be Continued…