White Rabbit Dreams
Friday, October 26, 2012 at 4:50AM

When you see a white rabbit, run. Go in the opposite direction, veer off track, turn incrementally away by only a few degrees if that's all you can do but no matter what, do not, DO NOT follow it down the hole. You know what happens down there?

Well, fantastic things. Adventure! Technicolour! What dreams are made of! But you don't want that. Dreams are what got you seeing white rabbits in the first place.

You stare down the hole he jumped into. Wisps of coloured smoke swirl, pop, and curl around your legs and before you know it, you've been pulled inside.

The air pricks your skin but it feels so good to breathe in. Not too thin or too thick, you can feel the oxygen feed your brain with every intake in a way that doesn't hurt or take effort. That hasn't happened in a while. The moment you feel ground under you, without even knowing why, you're running. Branches are snapping beneath your feet but you're rushing by so quickly you temporarily forget about all your ridiculous OCD idiosyncrasies having to do with intricate algorithms of sensations and placements and things you wish you could ignore when you're not running this fast. Soon you've lost track of how long or how far or how fast you're going and it occurs to you that you're incredibly lost but then you remember you didn't know where you started and you don't know where you're running to so then it's okay. You just run. Run. Run. The steps, the swing of your arms, the breath, all fall into a pattern, but the moment you think about it, you lose it. You try to keep it going through the internal rhythm you can still feel thumping, against your pores but, it's artificial now.

Still something propels you forward. There's a wall up ahead and you're about to hit it, but your legs keep going. Even in this forced rhythm of boom, boom, boom, boom, left, right, in, out. Just as your body is about to do this extremely stupid thing, your brain begins to panic. You see the crash before it happens, you see how at this exact rate your right hand would hit it first, followed closely by your left knee. Your head would probably be next, at which point your body would fall backwards, wholesale. You imagine the injuries, and try to gauge the level of pain you might feel in all these places. You're too preoccupied thinking about all of this when the crash actually happens. Entirely too soon, you're lying down on your back, experiencing the exact pains you thought you might.

Lying there, you try to open your eyes, only to find that they're already open, they just refuse to focus. In that split second, this technicolour world - everything you see and hear become this dull, dim haze.

Now you wish you knew where you started, so you can somehow find your way back. Not that you can move right now, but soon, you will be able to stand, and perhaps hobble. At that point, it would've been nice if you knew which direction to start hobbling towards.

What is most offensive, is the fact that you didn't want to go down there in the first place. Lying there, you register each point at which you questioned the decisions you were making. That small bubble of anger burps out of you. Not even regret, because there's nothing to regret. But that it was not really your choice, to still have that wall slam in your face, is particularly offensive.


When you see a rabbit, run.

Article originally appeared on Looking Glass - Alice Qin (http://riceingenue.com/).
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