Tick tock and all stood still. Time hadn’t had much time to adjust. If he had, he might’ve made a harsh “ding”, to sound on such an important occasion.
He thought that Alice might pay him a visit, he thought it rude otherwise. For he had, of course, invited her and she was dreadfully late. The term, invite, was used differently in this case or at least, in an ordinary persons thinking. For you see Time had set a challenge for Alice, and although, by all accounts, he expected her to win, he most fervently despised to lose. So here he was sitting between mechanisms that made time spin. He sat on the smallest rotating gear. That was all it took to still time, meddling with one gear. In his hand was a china cup. Time sipped on peppermint tea which was too hot. It made his nose twitch, that in turn shook his furry moustache, which had gotten wet in the process.
I wonder where she got to, he thought but then Time had seen Alice all through her life. She was scarcely ever on time. He couldn’t help her this time, the prophecy was set and he had hoped that if he might push her just enough she might save them all. Even if it meant pushing her back in time. Even if it meant that Time was at risk of vanishing.
The prophecy itself was rather straight forward. It had been in existence alongside Time and the great tree who had thought up Underland. That idea had an expiry date like all that tree had thought up. Needless to say, the cause was not easily seen to the average eye. For within that glass tree of thoughts and ideas, grew decay and mould and age. And if there were any that could understand age it was the human, Alice.
Alice too had grown but her fantasy had been growing distant and she, in time, may no longer believe. The tree had begun to believe it was just glass and by jolly it needed a talking to. But talking wouldn’t be enough.
The prophecy went as such:
Those of starry eyes, dreams shall be broken,
In a land where the unseen have now spoken.
Time will run away thus like a hare,
Who cant talk no further nor care.
Here where trees and animals alike will turn,
Overcome or broken,
None will know,
For within the tree of life decay will grow.
Up, Up and Down turns askew,
Alice may save you,
Or thus none will.
Acres and acres of time lies,
It cannot be fixed but goodness tries.
Underland, an idea of many,
Looks to Alice to save her from forgetting.