Tea didn't spill.
Her voice spilled.
Drowning.
Glubs coagulated.
Alice pressed down, forcing a pop to silence them.
A heavy bubble rose through a dark pool.
Glub.
Glub held.
The surface held.
Plop.
The last bubble burst.
"If I stay down here long enough," Alice thought, "I shall grow fins of lace. I shall speak in gurgles to the Oysters."
"And the Oysters hear nothing, my dear. Nothing at all,” a voice purred.
[Cut]
Narrative didn't include Oysters.
[Take two]
The megaphone called. Glubs returned to the stage.
Glub-glub-glub.exe: left ear.
Glub-glub-glub.exe: right ear.
Ugh—
Words_Drowned.exe
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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.

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