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The Riot

The riot broke out on a sunny, warm day in July when the birds were singing and the Lewis Carroll fans attacking.


I’m not kidding.  The Lewis Carroll fans are attacking a coffee shop. In Wonderland regalia no less, and very much more.  There was even a Jabberwocky and a young man with plastic sword reenacting the poem with a narrator dressed as one of the singing flowers.


The coffee shop used to be their favorite café, but then the café owners were bought out and a franchised coffee shop was soon to be in its place.  Said café, The Wonderland Café, a Tea & Pastry Parlor, was the one place willing to deal with tri-weekly Alice in Wonderland fans.  Originally, it was In the Garden Tea Parlor but when the majority of your patrons are there for a storybook, the novelty of it wore off.


The Carroll fans on the original café that is.


It was like this prior to the fan club: Wrought iron tables and chairs like a French café with a lacy pattern and none of the comfort, a large hand painted wall mural of a spring garden with lake, swans and Victorian era tea party on a gauzy gazebo.  The menu was written on a chalkboard and had small flourishes to add taste.  The waiters all wore white long-sleeved buttoned shirts, black buttoned vests, black slacks and a pastel blue apron.  They played harp music, served fine teas and fancy coffee and any pastry that wasn’t a doughnut.  Customer flow was very light, and very near going out of business until the Lewis Carroll fan club strolled in after being kicked out of the park.


You would think a game of croquet would be proper even with flamingo shaped mallets and balls painted to look like hedgehog spines.


So the fans began to pour in every Saturday afternoon for tea and pastry.  They were even allowed to celebrate their Happy Un-Birthdays and the occasional actual birthday so long as they didn’t stand on the chairs.  Again.  The victor of the croquet game (which was everyone but Jake who could never get a single point unless half an inch from the first hoop, for the love of pepper!) was allowed to recite a poem or section of a Carroll story.  We let Jack do a selection last anyways.  The wrought iron chairs gained overly fluffed cushions; the mural became Wonderland (courtesy of Delilah who always dressed as a card soldier) and the servers dressed as Mad Hatters.  The owners initiated all the changes once they realized that the Wonderland theme drew in more customers.


Apparently, the previous theme was snobbish.


So why, with customers coming in like tea from an over filled kettle and profits doing well enough you could remodel the place so extravagantly it looked like you stepped into a pop up version of the book, was The Wonderland Café, a Tea & Pastry Parlor sold off to a popular coffee chain?


Apparently, the owners were very snobbish.


And greedy.  Don’t forget the greedy.


When word reached the Alice’s Adventures & other Lewis Carroll Works fan club, they were playing croquet in a member’s yard.  They revolted then and there by swinging their flamingo mallets around and shouting “Off with their heads!”  This, needless to say, gained the attention of the neighbors.  Thankfully, they all knew about the fan club and thought it was another reenactment.  Though they did make sure, there were no piglets this time…  Once they finally calmed down enough they agreed on the tried and true method of getting what you want in America.




So they planned this revolt, named officially by The White Rabbit (played by Jack the awful croquet player) The Wonderland Café Tea & Pastry & Clubhouse Protest Mock-Battle, set for the last day the parlor would be open from 8 A.M. until the owners gave in or that coffee franchise gave up the pepper.  Every character of Wonderland was represented, and sometimes more than twice.  There’s a whole garden of Tiger-lilies and Roses; a destruction of Cheshire cats; a horde of Dormouse and many, many Alice of Wonderlands and Queen of Hearts.  What, pray tell, is the reason for so many multiples of mischief making fans?


Yet another wonderful American idea – advertisement.


The Carroll fans spread the word to anyone they knew, as well as making fliers and posting blogs and chain e-mails and even a phone call to the local news station.  When the protest was about to begin at promptly eight o’clock, there was a mob of people in Wonderland regalia (though some was of questionable origin) and the local news station ready to record the scenes different groups performed.  People danced, laughed, jumped around and it was definitely the loudest protest the city had ever seen.  We made sure not to block the street until the police sent out a message the road was blocked, thanks to the planning of the Red King, and original fan club member, Michael.  The police came to our side once we convinced them the people shouting “Off with your head!” and “More pepper!” really wouldn’t cause any harm at all.  They were all playing and laughing anyways.


It took until three in the afternoon for the owners of The Wonderland Café, a Tea & Pastry Parlor to come out to the protest with the representatives of the coffee franchise, but the look on their faces was absolutely…wonderful.  The owner of The Wonderland Café ,a Tea & Pastry Parlor Victor and his wife Karen were shocked at the crowd and the coffee franchise representative Hubert looked like he was watching a freak show.  The Wonderlanders were warned continuously not to do anything not Lewis Carroll related to anyone that wasn’t Lewis Carroll related, and they obeyed…


            Until franchise boy decided to insult Lewis Carroll.


“Why would you idiots be so absorbed with a child molesting pervert who wouldn’t even own up to writing the damn book!”

And that is when The Wonderland Café Tea & Pastry & Clubhouse Protest Mock-Battle was renamed The Wonderland Café Tea & Pastry & Clubhouse Riot by Jocelyn, another original club member and first resident Dormouse.  Now before you start thinking the Carroll fans became violent, let me tell you, they didn’t.  People started shouting quotes and others insults at the franchise boy, and let me tell you don’t ever, ever get the lady who played the cook riled up because she has such a temper!  That poor man was doused in pepper and then a Mad Hatter gave him a teacup of ink.  (Which he was wise enough not to drink, no matter how good the Hatter said it was.)  The police pulled out a siren and that shut every body up like the oldest oyster.  The owners were panicking and pale, the franchise boy fuming and then a little girl dressed as a flamingo, said:


            “Are you going to turn into a piggy now?”


Every real Lewis Carroll fan laughed so hard and when they spread the joke around, others started laughing too.  It was contagious, but really, how could you not laugh at the look on the man’s face?  He was red and had pepper covering his hair and shoulders, and then he sneezed again, which really made people laugh.  The owners started laughing too, which really ticked the franchise boy off.  He stormed off yelling he wouldn’t buy the owners store no matter what, and everyone but Victor and his wife cheered, since they missed out on a lot of money there.  So to cheer them up, a Red King and Queen of Hearts have up their crown and scepters to the couple, and the crowd swallowed them up so quick.  They didn’t stay, just handed off the royal’s belongings and dived for their car.  Once they’d left, we continued to cheer and lined up at The Wonderland Café, a Tea & Pastry Parlor for tea and Happy Un-Birthday cake, which even came with a candle to blow out and make a wish on.


In the end, the Wonderlanders won and The Wonderland Café stayed open.  You really don’t want to mess with a bunch of people crazy about a storybook, as the owners and franchise boy learned.  The café income really rocketed after that, what with the news reporting on The Wonderland Café Tea & Pastry & Clubhouse Protest Mock-Battle that turned into The Wonderland Café Tea & Pastry & Clubhouse Riot and all the people learning about it.  The owners ended up retiring early after opening another Wonderland parlor the next city over, which is where the sister fan-club of these Wonderlanders resides.  A very good victory, I must say.

Wrote this when I heard about the Tim Burton remake.  :)  Critique would be lovely.

The Calico Cat

Priscilla sat upon her old whicker rocking chair, sewing with withered hands as she embroidered a simple pattern. She could have stitched anything once, no matter how small the stitches had to be or how long it took. Now age brought infirmities and her sewing showed it.


“What happened to age brings wisdom, eh Sebastian?” She cooed, eyes squinting behind her reading glasses for her calico kitten. The small feline appeared on her porch one day, shivering in a brisk fall wind and mewing piteously. Sebastian had been her first choice as the kitten’s name, for the son she never bore. Even when one of her girls, Janet the second oldest and a caretaker at a zoo, pointed out Sebastian was more of a Susanna. Sebastian was Sebastian, her sixth child if only by adoption.


 Five girls, women with families of their own and happy careers. Even the youngest, flighty as she had been in her youth held a steady job and a serious fiancé. Finally that child had settled down, finally became serious and earned good money as a designer on those new computers. Even if it really was all Annabelle did all through high school instead of learning and studying like she should. That portrait of Sebastian sunning himself on the porch was marvelous though, and was exactly the thing she did every sunny after noon.


“Sebastian? Here kitty. Let’s have some lunch, eh? Nice bowl of milk just for you.” Priscilla shuffled on aching knees and ankles to the kitchen. She had to open the refrigerator, new and a shiny metallic silver from her eldest Catherine, with two hands. At least the age had come slowly almost to the point of being unnoticeable until the last years. Ninety seven with five children, a husband gone for five years and the Lady’s Guild presidency until last month. A shame her arthritis was as bad as it was…


Priscilla patted the top of her head where her tightly pulled iron gray bun rested, trying to remember what she had opened the refrigerator for. A soft mew startled her and as she gazed into the golden eyes of Sebastian she remembered.


“Oh ho, yes! Your milk, my little baby.”  Priscilla chuckled at herself, lifting the gallon jug and sliding it onto the kitchen table. So many times she had washed that table after her girls had colored with markers, crayons and pencils. So many times she’d wiped up spilt milk and juice. So many, many nights telling each girl in turn stories of her own youth to help them through troubles, fears and the pain of heartbreak. Oh so long, and oh so many.


Another mew tugged her from her thoughts to the task of lunch. She opened the plastic jug and lifted it cautiously to the cat’s bowl beside the cupboard. Bending slowly she managed to fill the little plastic dish, then even slower she managed to rise again. The refrigerator still ajar, Priscilla replaced the milk, which she never drank due to her stomach refusing almost every tidbit of anything dairy, and shuffled through plastic containers for lunch. Settling on mixed vegetables and dry chicken she set it upon the table and hunted down a clean fork and knife.


“Never mind that dratted microwave. Honestly, Sebastian, why would I want to fumble with so many buttons when the food is just as good cold?” The cat cleaned her face with a well licked paw, purring in contentment. Sebastian rubbed languidly against the side of the counter, slinking forward with cat like grace to her mistress. When Priscilla sat fully in her wooden chair with the blue checkered cushion, the calico pounced onto her lap and sat staring up into her owner’s fading green. “What? You’ve had your milk kitty, don’t come to me for more.”


Sebastian purred, nuzzling her owner’s stomach. The little one year old could handle cat food, never mind the little fangs resting behind the whiskers. Only when Priscilla rubbed her ears Sebastian stilled and enjoyed the feel of well-worn hands.


“Alright my little baby, scoot so I can eat, hmm?” Priscilla spoke low, tired suddenly. Christina would call soon though, for advice on her infant daughter and to chide her mother if she was not eating. Ninety seven and treated as if she were two by the second youngest! Priscilla watched Sebastian trot out of the kitchen, most likely back to the porch to sun and bathe. She returned her gaze to the Tupperware meal, picking at it and eating a few morsels. The phone rang and glad for the distraction from the food she did not want Priscilla shuffled over to the receiver hooked into the wall.


“Hello? Oh, Christina how are you, dear? How’s Jessica? Is she feeding alright? Good, good. No. No I don’t think chewing on her clothes is a problem. Janet, oh was it Janet?” Priscilla paused, tapping her foot against the floor.


“No, no it was Annabelle. Annabelle did the same and nothing has ever been wrong with that child except her flightiness. Yes, yes I was just sitting down to eat.” She glanced at the food, nose wrinkling in distaste. She was so fussy now a days. “No! I want to talk to you. I’m really not feeling all too well anyways. Ah, tired. All those years of dealing with you girls ran me ragged. I deserve to be tired now. Does she? That’s to be expected, babies are curious.”


“I remember… Janet, definitely Janet, would do anything to get anywhere new. When she learned to walk! No place was safe, and certainly it scared me when she learned to open doors. That girl can’t stand having a roof over head!” Priscilla yawned them, loud and deep as she struggled to contain it. “Well yes, I suppose I should. I told you I was tired. Yes, my dear. I will right now. Maybe my stomach will be back after a nap. All right. Yes. Mmhm. Alright, now you tell that dratted son-in-law of mine to help you. If he doesn’t I’ll whack him one right in the kisser! Alright, have a nice day dear. Love you too.”


Priscilla shuffled to the front door and twisted the lock open. She poked her head out to see Sebastian with her stomach in the air on the welcome mat. When the kitten realized her mistress was peering at her, smiling and shaking her head wryly, Sebastian leapt up and began licking her sides clean.


“Oh yes, you sneaky little thing! You were busy all along!” She closed the door and retreated past the dining room on her left and closet on right, past the door to the kitchen and open living room down the short hall to her own room. It was past the girls’ bathroom, oh how they had warred over it every morning! And to the right of her room the spare room Gregory -her late husband- used as a work room and the three rooms the girls had once split among themselves as they had seen fit. She entered the walk in closet parallel to the sink and long mirror, pulling pajamas from their nook on the shelves Gregory had installed.


“Pajamas! In the middle of the day!” Priscilla chided herself. “Old gal you can’t be so lazy! Ninety seven years you’ve done well enough, you can just take of your shoes and nap in clothes.”


She loosened the bun, removing the myriad of bobby pins until a memory of doing her girls’ hair came to her. She’d placed Samantha’s hair in a bun for a ballet recital. Little Samantha, the middle child, had been shaking so hard, unable to keep still and calm. She’d joked about anything she could, then called the bobby-pins betty-pins. What boy uses hairpins? I don’t see a single boy with long hair in a bun. I’d better not see any longhaired boys either, young lady. The entire time she’d smiled, leaning over Samantha’s shoulder with the half serious warning. Oh, had the little ballerina laughed then!


Priscilla finally came to her senses, staring at herself in the mirror.


“Old gal you really are becoming a space cadet.” Half her bun was still up and falling as she again began to pile the pins, the betty-pins she mused, into their little paper box. That done she brushed her hair out and sleepily shuffled to bed. The bedspread of faded white linen was pulled back to reveal the freshly laundered blue sheets used to make the bed that morning. Priscilla crawled in, fondly stoking her husbands old pillow. Five years, nearly six she had missed him. Even knowing he was in heaven, even knowing he had loved her to the end there was no denying she missed him and wanted him back.


“I guess being a tough old lady has a drawback of being around too long.” She mused, and then scowled. Wishing for death would get her nowhere. Prayers. Prayers to focus on.


“Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” The words were burned into her memory, she recited them drowsily, barely aware the words came from her mouth. “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”


Sleepiness drugged her down, but habit ingrained wouldn’t let her sleep, not without her prayers said.


“Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven…Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not…into temptation…but…deliver us…from evil. Amen.” The yawn she had fought escaped, pulling a rush of air to her sleep clouded mind. “One more…Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the Beginning, it is now…and forever shall be…world without…end.”


She was sleeping softly, completely unaware as dreams washed everything away and a calico cat sat licking its paw on the doorstep.



Father Brandon stepped onto the porch of Priscilla Bianchi’s home. The wood was worn and pale blue; nearly gray tinted, paint beginning to peel. He spied Sebastian, Priscilla’s favorite topic when she frequented church, eyeing him from behind a potted plant. He smiled at the cat, and then turned back to the door. Priscilla had not been in church that morning, and no one had been able to reach her. He rang the bell, waiting patiently and knowing her arthritis was worsening slowly and understanding the feeling – his own mother, fifty years old, suffered the same. After a long moment she didn’t answer, so he rang again, accentuating it with a quick rap with the knocker. Another moment passed with a small noise coming from inside the house.


“Mrs. Bianchi? It’s Father Brandon. Are you alright?”


The door creaked open, revealing a smiling and wrinkled face adorned with green eyes and topped with an iron dray bun pulled tight as a ballerina’s. “Oh, hello Father! I’m sorry I missed mass, didn’t I?”


“Yes, I’m afraid so. Some of the women from the Guild expressed some concern, so I volunteered to check-up on you.” The father smiled, extending a hand to grasp gently as Priscilla’s and leaned in towards her. “You are alright, aren’t you?”


“Oh yes. I slept since noon yesterday. I must have been so tired.” She sighed. “Won’t you come in and have something to drink? My second youngest, Christina, she brings the grandchildren every Sunday and I have plenty of chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies.”


“Always the doting grandmother.” Father Brandon teased.


“Of course. I’ll be babysitting for a few more years yet!”

No real explination, it's just something I wrote with the prompt "A cat laying on it's back means company is coming."  I'd love critique on this.

A Proposal

The situation of the world has come to the point where no one is capable of walking don thee street without the subconscious fear of attack. At any moment, a man may barge into a bank, his face hidden behind a ski mask and a set of Desert Eagle1 pointing at someone’s head. As you walk home one night from the 7-11, and even your own house while you sleep inside are both possible targets. Your child’s elementary school, the bus or subway you ride to work, or the mall you shop and hang out in are all places where you can never be safe unless you carry something far deadlier than everyone else. Even if you do, you can never carry it, so only the people who want to do you harm ever have a weapon. The rest of us must resort to pepper spray and mace that can never defend against a Colt Python2 pointed at our skulls.
The violence of today is not even limited to illegal acts. We watch it on the television, hear it on the radio and find entertainment in it on the big screen. Cars crash, people are shot and killed and the worst part, we allow children to watch it. Every day children watch movies and programs on cable that would cause an older generation to be horrified. The lax morals of a newer generation led society to today’s standard of extreme indulgence, enough is never enough, and whether is watching a blood thirsty mafia movie, or the evening news reporting live on a school massacre, violence feeds the hunger.
A successful end to violence does not come from rehabilitation, life in prisons overflowing with criminals and gang members, but from a currently illegal practice, that I believe will readily become legal and enforced as the absolute punishment. My proposal to the end of violence is just a simple surgery, resulting in the loss of the convicted person’s frontal lobe. Lobotomies resulted in the nullification of many insane and dangerous people in the years it was a legalized medical procedure. Innocent people did suffer when the diagnosis was incorrect or the law falsely accused them, but medical knowledge of what is best for mentally unbalanced is beyond the beliefs of those days and with the status quo of society today, lobotomies as punishment is justifiable. Any violent transgression results in the usual chain of trial by jury, then the transportation all guilty persons to a prison turned hospital facility for their lobotomy. Until all lobotomized criminals are capable of self-care, they will remain in the penitentiary they resided in after conviction. They will then relearn any basic functions, such as dressing and hygiene, which they may forget due to the procedure, and slowly be assimilated into society. When the patient is capable of functioning in society, training for a low level job, such as clean up crews and other jobs only requiring a G.E.D or high school diploma commences. This way youth are encouraged to attend a college or university, thus raising the national standards in education. The lobotomy itself acts as a substantial warning to any who consider a violent crime.

1. – Desert Eagle: semi-automatic handgun, type of magnum.
2. – Colt Python: name of a .357 Magnum, a type of small handgun.

All of you please realize this: I am being SATIRICAL. I am making fun of the system by proposing a highly dangerous andsometimes deadly procedure to human beings. Would I mind if serial rapists/murderers and child molestors punished like this? Yes. But in general this is satire. It's just very faint satire, and my teacher barely caught it.

My First Best Friend

I met my first best friend, and second friend after years of bullying, in middle school. I clung to her because she never insulted me. We became friends eighth grade year and have been friends ever since. Until I totally screwed up and ruined everything.

I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut, or better yet, think before I speak. I end up in situations where the whole "open mouth, insert foot" line is an understatement for how I feel. This situation, that line doesn't cover it.

So I'm an idiot. I threw away the best friendship because I was, well, overly dramatic may fit, but I don't think so.  I just didn't think. I let my damnable emotions get the better of me, and I'm down to one best friend who's great and I love her like a sister, but lets face it. I can't tell her everything like I did my first best friend. (I'm sparing them by not using names, they deserve that at least.)

This isnt going to be a long post, mostly because, well, I really would prefer not to detail what I did. They know. I know. I admit I'm every type of idiot and ditz and then some. They are nodding their heads as they read this. One of them(you know who you are, Miss OCD) is laughing in agreement. I'll bet ya anything she is. Okay, well, not anything, but you get my drift, right? Right. Back on topic.

There's no way for me to apologize enough to my first bf, and I don't think it'd matter how much anyways. She hates me now. I mean, she blew up just because Miss OCD invited me to dinner with her and first bf. Then she covered it up by saying she was venting about her sister. Yeah, guess who told me. Sorry but I'm getting everything I can out.

Okay, now, I wanna explain my side. I had thought me and first bf had worked this out. That we would be neutral about it and be friends again. Apparently, I was so very wrong. So what did I do, besides that which I have admitted to to my best friends? I have no clue. Maybe someone could tell me? I wanna know exactly so I can explain and or fix this.

Now, I know my parents are considered a problem. My father has said he blaims first best friend for my bad grades, bad attitude, story writing, and general change from happy go lucky to miss emo suicidal. I changed because I got so friggan tired of being happy when I wasn't!!! WTF dad? No one influenced me. I'm better than damn peer pressure. If that was the case I'd be a southern preppy bimbo with bad blonde hair and skanky clothes and a hunting jacket. Last time I checked, I wasn't any of those things, nor do I own any of those clothes, Thank GOD! Now for my mom.... She gets angry if she doesn't understand. My evidence: I jokingly said my last resort would be Trident tech and then transfer to a four year IF no one else accepted me first go around. What did she do? Ban my boyfriend from coming over. My parents are not representations, nor does their advice affect of me. A rare tidbit maybe, but mostly no. They don't know me half as well as they think. They may know when somethings wrong, when Im happy, in trouble, etc., but otherwise are clueless. After 17 years my dad still doesn't know half the stuff I like. And I still have to remind him I don't care what people say. I'm over the bullies.

I think I've got the basics covered. If my now ex-best friend would be so kind as to talk to me, for the sake of the friendship we once had, that would be great. I at least want us to be nuetral, not angered beyond safe point, and me cursing the day I got it in my head to talk to you. Im really thinking we'd both be so better off if we hadn't been friends if I made you this mad. Honestly, I never want you mad at me. I feel like shit when you are. I know I used to tease you, but I meant it in the same way you called me gaki. I didn't like gaki much, but I really wish you'd call me that again.