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.
“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.
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.
Now a days , we do not know what is real or fake.
ReplyDeleteAI seems to have taken over so much.
Take care, have a great day and a happy weekend!
Alice needs a bottle to put time in.
ReplyDelete