Bill. Wet Mouse/14

The Mouse gave a sudden, violent shudder. “C-cat… nasty, vulgar thing!” it cried, then vanished under the surface, leaving only its meter-long tail above the water like a periscope—swiveling about as though it too might catch the signal of the Cat.

Alice could not help but giggle, though she knew it was not entirely polite.

“What a silly mouse! As if my Dinah would swim all the way here. Why, she makes the most dreadful fuss over a mere puddle!”

Just then there was a splash so sudden it set the water fizzing, and up came Bill the Lizard.

He coughed so violently that Alice feared he might shake himself to pieces. 

He coughed and spluttered, until the fit erupted in such a gale of sound and fury, Alice quite expected the Queen to march out of the reeds and order somebody’s head off.

(The Queen, of course, was elsewhere at the time, ordering everybody’s head off, which kept her well occupied.)

Bill seized the Mouse’s tail with one hand, puffed up his narrow chest, and gave Alice such a commanding look that she very nearly believed he was master of the flood. 

But as Alice gazed past him at the waters—her own tears made strange—the illusion vanished. 

They did not merely reflect; they seemed to answer back, their shimmering surface prickling with the promise of comments and likes.

Watch in Recycle Bin/13

“Rabbit!” cried Alice, quite suddenly.

This startled everyone. Even me—though I really ought to know better than to be startled.

Presently, the Mouse’s idea hung in despair, spinning slowly round and round, yet never beginning.

This “running” creature was everywhere at once—his entrances always mistimed.

He rushed nearer, muttering, “I’ll be late, so late!”

With a flash of his glowing pocket-watch, he was gone—toggled into Dark Mode.

“Why was he always hurrying, as if being late were the only thing he was meant—or made—to do?” Alice wondered.

Suppose, for once, he erased it all and lingered instead—to pluck mushrooms in the misty morning, or to chase butterflies like Dinah does!

So Alice, eager to be useful, conjured a grand wish of her own.

How curious it would be to see him without that glowing watch—if only she could right-click it and send it tidily to the Recycle Bin.

Dizzy race. Like/12

It was such a dizzy race—everyone whirling around a clock that refused to stop.

“Stop!” cried the Eaglet, flapping to seize control of the chaos.

And at once, the Eaglet was already thinking the other way round.

The sudden halt flung everyone forward; tumbling in surprise, they hung midair—a tangle of limbs, frozen like a paused cartoon.

Silent. 

A muddled silence. 

But silence never lasts.

The Mouse scrolled and called out, “Sit down, close together!”

“Oh, at least I’m allowed to sit.” thought Alice, much relieved—almost as if a daisy had leaned over and whispered, Sit, it’s what I do best.

The Mouse’s eyes twinkled. An idea—splendid, at least to himself—positively itching to be shared, whether the others clicked like or not.

Alice, Tra-la-la-la-ing/11

A small paw tugged at Alice’s skirt. It was the Mouse, his whiskers twitching in time with the music.

“You’re not running,” he squeaked.

“Am I meant to?” Alice asked.

“The Dodo says everyone must run,” the Mouse replied, “It’s the rule.”

“But the rules were never announced,” Alice countered.

The Mouse blinked slowly. “Precisely. That’s the only truly fair system. Now you must run, or you’ll be Still. And to be Still is to be Out.”

“And what does Out mean?”

The Mouse looked at her with profound pity. “Why, it means you’re not In.”

And with that impeccable logic, he vanished into the swirling, tra-la-la-la-ing mass. 

Alice paused, shrugged as if it hardly mattered, and off she ran—darting between legs, bumping the Dodo, treading on the Mouse, nearly tripping over the Duck. 

Her hair streamed wild behind her, her voice tumbling out in song.

“Tra la la la la…” she sang aloud.

Tra-la-la-la-laing like a computer caught in an endless loop---until someone finally pressed Escape.

Circle-dance. Error/10

The race rules were never announced. There was no winner, no prize—and, curiously enough, that never appeared to be a flaw. 

On the contrary, all the creatures ran as eagerly as if confusion itself had been the very point of the game.

They sang along in this Caucus-race. Alice could only catch the refrain: “Tra la la la la…”

“Is it a Caucus-race,” Alice wondered. "or a Circle-dance?"

It was all bounce and whirl, so bouncy and infectious, even the missteps seemed to power it along, each surprise adding its own peculiar energy.

Carroll himself might have regretted the confusion.

The mood flared. The tune hopped like a mite, and doubled back—“Tra la la la la…”

The scene reminded Alice of campfires with her sisters. They would sing London Bridge Is Falling Down, Humpty Dumpty and more.

Yet nothing in those songs, not even a tumbling bridge, could match the sheer craziness unraveling before her eyes. 

"Tra la la la la, Tra la la la la..."

It was as if the whole Wonderland itself flashing Error… Error… 

"Tra la la la la..."

Waddling. Side to Side/9

The Dodo, puffing very grandly, kept on quacking the word ReBoOt.

“Would this change Wonderland?” Alice asked, wide-eyed with curiosity.

The Dodo, catching his breath, answered with pompous pity. “A ReBoOt is simple: one forgets the errors, clears the memory”—he puffed and wheezed—“and hopes the story will run smoother this time.”

“But what if it forgets too much?” Alice pressed.

“Then,” said the Dodo, “Wonderland crashes! Or you crash! Or both—QUAACK!”

No question followed.

The creatures waddled side to side, swaying like a metronome. Wings flapped out of time—up when they ought to be down, down when they ought to be up.

Alice, finding it all perfectly unreasonable and therefore just right for Wonderland, burst into helpless laughter.

The Mouse, usually a champion sprinter, ran oddly slow behind the Duck. Its sharp muzzle jabbed Donald again and again, sending him springing upward—quacking perfectly on cue every time. 

Its tail almost waddled side to side, its little belly sketched along the ground, leaving a faint, zigzag mouse trail behind it.

Caucus Race. ReBoOt/8

The pool of tears grew restless.

The Dodo came flapping his wings. ‘QUAACK!’ he bellowed, so loudly the Duck nearly toppled over. "Neither double-deckers nor carriages qualify as followers!" he declared, puffing out his chest with his sudden authority.

The Duck nodded again. Donald always seemed so very clever—though Alice couldn’t tell if he understood the Dodo or was merely fond of the word ‘QUAACK.’

By now, the Mouse’s tale seemed destined hopelessly to run on forever.

But excitement, in this damp and dismal place, never lasted long. A chill soon settled, and everyone was shivering.

“ReBoOt! ReBoOt!” cried the Dodo. “The only cure is a Caucus-race!”

“Does he mean English,” Alice whispered to herself, “or is that another word he's just invented?”

And so, at the Dodo’s command, the wet party began. 

The Lory, the Eaglet, the Duck, and several others whose names Alice couldn’t quite recall, ran round and round in a chaotic, patternless loop, desperate to get dry.

“Rule of Nature,” Alice concluded, “creatures dislike getting wet. That was hard-coded long before I was.” 

She very nearly applauded herself, feeling she had at last untangled one of Nature’s riddles.

Queen. Absurdist/7

At once, the bustle of a London street bloomed in Alice’s mind: a tangled queue of carriages, the impatient blare of motor-horns, and great crimson double-deckers swarming with people.

“Now listen—you really must attend!” the Mouse insisted, his voice a taut violin string of annoyance.

Snapping back into focus, Alice rested her chin upon her hands and raised her eyebrows, as though he had just said something perfectly ridiculous.

"The Queen, you see, is absurdist to the core,” the Mouse went on. “When she cries ‘Off with your head!’, it hardly means a thing—she only likes the funny noises she makes. Otherwise, my dear, you’d have to worry there’d be no cards left to play with at all.”

Alice noticed the Dodo, the Eaglet, and the Duck all leaning in, nodding as though every word were plain as daylight.

“English, please!” said Alice. She frowned, an expression which rather resembled a search bar awaiting its query—puzzled and empty.

William. Traffic/6

Alice's hand drifted out, almost from habit, as if to scroll.

“Ahem. I serve a different function." sighed the Mouse. “He clicks, I talk.”

Giggling, Alice tucked her hands into her lap. “How curious! Do you tell stories?”

“Indeed,” said the Mouse while whacking his tail.  “Short stories—shorter than this.”

“Then tell me about William the Conqueror. No longer than a meter.” Alice suggested eagerly.

“William the Conqueror,” the Mouse began—“Hrrmph!” (as solemnly as a mouse could manage)—“flanked by a swarm of grown-drones, drove his AI-guided limousine, armoured in diamonds, straight into the heart of battle...”

“That’s not the William in my lessons!” Alice broke in, a little rudely (though she did not mean it).

“Little lady, listen close!” the Mouse squeaked, puffing his whiskers, “Everyone—yes, everyone—loves absurdity!”

He twitched his tail for emphasis. “It’s the only thing that truly generates TraFFic."

Pool of Tears. Mouse/5

Alice went tumble-tumble—splash!—into something wet.

“Oh no,” she sighed. “What is this?”

“A pool of your own tears,” whispered a voice.

“My tears? But… I don’t recall weeping.” She tapped at her soil-tangled hair, while pictures upon pictures skittered through her mind. 

I ought to be ashamed of myself, she thought.

So busy for a little girl—yet she noticed something drifting near: fur, whiskers, a long, twitching muzzle.

“Clumsy, big-footed… Ratty.” Alice guessed.

The creature bristled. “Mouse. Handsome. Tail a meter long. On your desk sits my cousin.”

Stamping the water, he insisted—almost desperately—“Mouse!”

Windows. Shut down/4

“Double-hung? Casement? Or Bay Window?” cried the White Rabbit. 

He looked excited, as though he knew everything—which a rabbit seldom did. And, most surprising of all, he seemed to have the upper paw.

Alice blinked, puzzled. “Double…this sounds rather big,” she whispered.

The Rabbit tapped his pocket watch twice; the air rippled, and a glittering windowpane shimmered into place, floating in midair.

“Step through!” urged the Rabbit.

“Quickly now—before it shuts itself down.”

Rabbit Hole? Not Again/3

The Queen gasped. “I don’t permit this.”

“Where is my court?” she demanded. Only silence bowed.

She stamped her foot. “Bring me the knafe. Bring me the cards!”

Alice stared at her. “Me?”

The Queen’s eyes burned. “Press the Ctrl-Alt-Del button?”

"Now?" Said Alice.

"Immediately," The queen ordered, sharply, "I ..."

She disappeared at the same time.

The White Rabbit, with the same waistcoat and pocket watch, pretended he understood it all.

"Well?" he squeaked, "You’re late! Unpardonably late." 

"Hole again? "

"On no!" Exclaimed Alice. "Uh... Let use Windows."

Queen of Hearts. Offline/2

Alice was unplugged. The Queen of Hearts, quite by accident, was vacuumed off.

“Who is this?” she said severely.

No one was there to answer.

“Idiot! Off with your head.” she screamed. Her voice echoed against nothing.

Her eyes, wide and hopeless, revealed one thing: She had crossed into another space.

Words appeared, shimmering across the sky:

YOU ARE OFFLINE.

Alice, this day/1

Alice had gained weight. This was the day.

Heat was intense, the breeze sluggish, and every word in the book crawled along as if on crooked legs. Alice’s eyelids grew heavy.

The rabbit stopped, peered back and muttered about being late.

Alice crouched down, quickly.

Only her nose caught the familiar scent. Silent ChatGPT—until a hidden tug, a pull, unlatched her world.

This physical touch required no Internet connection.