Episode 71.1 - Gallons, Ounces, and Inches/ A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles 

GALLONS, OUNCES, AND INCHES 

After Alice’s count of two, Wonderland echoed.

Buffering...

One Dodo arrived.

Delayed.

Then another.
Then came two Ducks.
Then two Eaglets.
Two Rats.

At the end of the line, two Seconds duck-walked.

Their footsteps stepped on one another. Neither felt. 

“Why are we summoned?” asked a Second, rubbing its eyes—

Still a second.

“She did nothing but count,” another Second added.

“She counted for nothing, but something lost two seconds,” they sighed.

Beneath the soil the Cat had scratched, a voice rose. 

So faint that Alice had missed it.

“Can a gallon hold a second?”

The first Second folded its ears shut.

“Don’t be stupid,” another voice replied. “It’s one ounce.”

“One ounce is broader than a gallon,” the second voice continued.

“You are right,” said the first voice. “It was ruled so.”

The Seconds checked each other.

“We should go,” whispered the first Second.

“Why?" said the other. “Once wasted, we are nobody's.”

The first Second stopped duck-walking on the spot.

“We're the Water,” it said. “No—we're the Wind now.”

The Rats’ tails lifted and swirled, touching nothing.

“Yes,” said the other. “Wind that does not need winding.”

The Dodos swayed. The Ducks waddled. The Eaglets poked. The Rats shuffled. 

Something was blowing through. 

The line shrank.

This story became two inches shorter.

Someone said we are two inches.

Who cares.

Who cares.

Previous Episode: The Fourth Choice 

Next Episode: Perfect Weather 
The house seemed to swell ever so slightly—two inches

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 71 - The Fourth Choice / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles 

THE FOURTH CHOICE 

Nothing disappears—it only pivots.

So does the tree. Its life pivots into the soil in winter.

The Cat watched the sky. 

The fourth choice took its time.

It grinned wider, looked down, then scratched the soil with his fourth paw.

One stubborn soil licked and refused to let go.

“Ah yes,” he purred.

“The Fourth—seek the help of one Brown Doc."

“He is kept by a most curious time machine.”

“You will know him by his wild white hair— and by the White Rabbit's pocket watch, which dangles from the second buttonhole of his vest."

Sometimes the turning point lay underneath.

"And by the way he forever exclaims, ‘Great Socks!’ if he forgot his name,” he continued. 

The grin stretched to its limit; the teeth shimmered like spring stars.

Alice goggled. The Cat’s intelligence—AI?

No. That was nonsense.

Everything was artificial now.

“Kept by a time machine…? Socks…?” Alice murmured.

The grin stretched impossibly wider, just past the limit.

“You see,” the Cat purred, “one cannot chase yesterday without a little chaos."

"Are you prepared to wobble, and perhaps spill your tea along the way?” he asked. 

Alice hesitated.

Then she burst into laughter. 

She was watching the cup dance, click-clacking against the plate; half of the tea spilled over the rim, but somehow, it pulled back in.

The grin vanished while Alice remained distracted.

“Give me exactly two seconds—One… two,” she shouted.

The grin did not return.

Brown Doc was forced to pivot.

The Cat already had.

Previous Episode: 

Noon Now

Next Episode: Gallons, Ounces, and Inches 
"Someone said we are two inches."
"Who cares."

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 70.1 - Noon Now / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles 

NOON NOW 

The prince nestled the slipper into Alice’s palm.

Her foot wouldn’t fit. She took it anyway.

She slipped her foot in.

---

Slipper frayed—and so did the prince.

Clock didn't strike twelve.

Magic spell clocked out anyway.

This wasn't her story.

In Alice's theatre, her story and the prince met—

then forked apart from the same point.

---

The clock struck twelve. 

Noon now.

Shadows rotted.

Oh, pumpkin.

---

A Jack-o’-lantern clocked in.

Hollow eyes. Hollow nose. Hollow mouth. 

Alice's story trembled. 

A blade dropped—

Tock. 

Tang.

The Godmother didn’t respond. 

---

She leaned over the hollowed pumpkin.

She peered through its eyes at Alice.

Her face slipped through. 

Rind. 

She became another wrong pumpkin.

---

Enough.

🛑

🔚

"Wait. Who's telling this story again?"

The veil closes.

No one now.

Previous Episode: Yesterday Blooms

Next Episode: The Fourth Choice 
Sometimes the turning point lay underneath

New to Alice’s Digital Dreamscape?

Start here → Episode 67: Passing Through 

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 70 - Yesterday Blooms / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles 

YESTERDAY BLOOMS

Stories are often nonsensical—like a left-hand glove worn on the right hand.

“Aren’t stories just fairytales? Like... Cinderella, the glass slippers, and the prince.”

Alice paused at the prince, then continued, “I heard it only yesterday morning.”

“Yes, yesterday.” 

The memory unspooled, petal by petal, blooming into a sharp, living image: a Footman presenting an invitation from the Queen to play Pickleball—yesterday.

The grin came back, broad as ever.

“How does one catch up with yesterday?”  

The question reflexed—as if Alice's tongue had been tapped with a little hammer.

“Catch up with yesterday?” The Cat purred. “That is easy. You see, you have four choices.”

He lifted one paw, pointing to the west, where yesterday had gone.

The teeth of the grin glinted like summer stars.

“First—run fast, as fast as the Duchess, but not half a step faster; or else you'll overtake yesterday by one day.”

Another paw appeared, gesturing toward the east, from where tomorrow would arrive.

The grin stretched wider, its teeth gleaming like autumn stars.

"Second—stand still. Yesterday B#le×a*ry. Then stumbles beside you,” the Cat chirped, echoing his last vanishing caper with the hippy-cats.

The third paw remained still.

The grin widened further; its teeth like winter stars.

“The third requires perfect timing. When memory forgets to close the door—sneak in. Sneak in.”

Up there in the sky hung the last choice, clinging to the spring stars.

The Cat glanced upward. He purred longer than before.

“Are you consulting a fairy in the night sky?” Alice asked.

She lifted her gaze as well.

But the fairy flew here and there, her star-tipped wand tipping every blessing toward a bedtime story.

The fourth choice faded, and across the veil came the prince, with a glass slipper in his hand.

Previous Episode: Everyone In The Omnibox Stayed On 

Next Episode: Noon Now

The wrong pumpkin was surprised.
Hollow eyes. Hollow nose. Hollow mouth…

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 69 - Everyone In The Omnibox Stayed On/ A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles 

EVERYONE IN THE OMNIBOX STAYED ON

“What happens if I type pishposh?” Alice asked.

She didn’t look pinched—
only the letters did. Pizzicato—plucked! 

All the way to their toe-tips.

“Back to normal and Pishposh are two different suggestions. They hammer you differently… Pishposh often misses the ‘mer’ and rather hams you in the end,” purred the Cat.

“What if I type a wrong spelling?” she said aloud to the mirror. “Or...what if I backspace the sentence?”

The Cheshire Cat tilted his head, catching a few glup-glups trailing behind the sentence.

“Type carefully. Or type recklessly. Either way, the omnibox is there.”

Alice sighed. “I… I think I prefer primary school. Much safer than typing and guessing with the mirror.”

The code on the mirror flashed, stuttered: 01010011 01100011 01101000 01101111 01101111 01101100 00111111

“You see,” the Cat said, “the mirror questions you back."

“If not school… supposedly I’m to write something silly,” Alice said, cringing at her own words.

“Like… nonsense started when Alice met a Cheshire Cat.”

The Cat shrugged, his tail curling up toward his ear. “Be careful—that’s not an ideal idea. When the mirror chuckles, you heh-heh too.”

Alice hesitated, then stared at the omnibox. “And what happens if I don’t write anything?”

The mirror was silent. 

The silence transmitted through the glass to its far side, spreading and settling around everyone.

With each passing second, Alice noticed something happening to the second Alice.

“What,” she said, her breath uneasy, “if I don’t write… you fade?”

“Precisely.” 

“Well,” Alice said at last, “instead of fading, I should write something good… like 'The Return of Everyday Adventure', perhaps?” she murmured.

The second Alice nodded just a heartbeat ahead of the Cat—yet perfectly in step with Alice’s thought.

Alice felt the tickle.

“Do readers prefer adventure… or nonsense?” she asked.

The two preferences circled above her head, each trying to perch like a halo above the other.

A voice answered through the omnibox—from deeper within it, from across the oceans. It italicised itself.

“Readers are already discussing it.”

Alice sighed. “Everybody is so into the story.”

“That’s how stories keep from falling off the page,” purred the Cat. 

The stories hopped, danced, and pranked—their tails drooping, the letter s stretching downward, as if slipping off the line… or pulling the line with it.

“Stories are falling.”

Alice’s hands reached out—and other hands reached too.

Hands from inside the omnibox.
Hands from the other side of the veil.
Hands reaching from where the story had already turned in on itself.

“No,” the Cat said, flicking his tail, “stories are often nonsensical, a copy-exact of their creator.”

And at the same time, with one final flick of his tail, he slipped sideways—and vanished.

Everyone inside the omnibox stayed on.

Alice did not know which side she was on.

Previous Episode: I Am What Continues

Next Episode: Yesterday Blooms
As if someone had tapped her tongue with a little hammer.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.