Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.

Add comment   Close
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10

Chucked Through the Looking Glass

Share this writing

Link to this writing

Start Writing

More from Stephen Stribbell

Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Butterknife Haematoma
The Window
Playing the Beast

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.
Warren Gates Warren Gates
Recommendations: 23
For Fools

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

Charles Dodgson stopped writing for a moment, looking toward his aging Mother. “What about a mad rabbit?” he asked.

“A what?” his Mother asked, slightly exasperated by his continuous flow of odd questions.

“A mad rabbit. It would fit rather well with a Jabberwocky.”

“A Jabberwocky?” his Mother asked, raising an eyebrow, “What on earth is a Jabberwocky?”

“A creature much like a Griffin, Mum, but much more horrible,” Charles replied with a euphoric grin.

“You really need to stop that nasty opium habit, Charles,” his Mother replied, “More tea dear?”

“Please, Mum,” Charles answered, as he filled his small ivory pipe with more opium.

“Why don’t you give that nasty habit a rest and concentrate on mathematics again?” his Mother asked while pouring the tea.

“I’m very weary of mathematics, and even logic in general,” Charles said, his eyes glazing even more as he puffed on his pipe, “I’m quite sure there’s more to living than numbers.”

His Mother sighed, setting the teapot back on the trivet. “Well, dear, how could you tell if a rabbit was mad?”

“Indeed,” Charles mused, “and I don’t really want to fill the story with rabbits.”

His Mother sipped her tea, then returned her attention to her knitting.

“What are you knitting, Mother?” Charles inquired, looking carefully at the woolen shape that was taking form in her lap.

“A hat for your young nephew,” she answered, proudly, holding it up for Charles to admire.

“That’s it!” Charles exclaimed, “A Mad Hatter!” He began scribbling frantically, while his Mother sighed and, shaking her head, returned to her knitting.

Link to this writing

Share this writing