"Oh, my God," cried out the little girl, placing her hands upon her rosy cheeks, "my God! What have you done?"
I must have been in some sort of daze; I was picturing a world so strange and queer. When I returned to the reality of Wonderland, I could not comprehend the situation. A little girl, so young and innocent, was looking perturbed and very upset, sobbing as she proclaimed, "you murdered him!"
I looked from side to side, hoping this precious creature was accusing some hidden or concealed villain, but her terrified expression was fixed upon me. There was a brief confusion, as I discovered my hands holding onto weighty objects.
In the left was a dark club; a lethal weapon used for combat. In the right was a long spade; also used for combat, but unlike the club, it was covered in scarlet blood. This vital liquid was everywhere, especially staining my clothes. There was no way around it, I was indeed the murderer.
My victim? I surveyed the grassy ground beneath my feet, and beheld a white rabbit; his face was ghastly and twisted. The frantic screams of the little girl interrupted the investigation.
"What have you done? Why would you do such a thing?" Her tears were trickling down her youthful complexion, and showering down to her blue dress.
"Why?" I thought. "What was I doing before this? What happened to that dream I was having?"
There was no immediate explanation for my devious actions, though the situation warranted a reason for my criminal behavior. I stooped down toward the white rabbit, and at that moment I felt something strapped to my back.
It was a wicker basket; round and light, the contents of which was unknown. I gradually brought my hand to the lid of the basket and flipped it off. Suddenly, all recollection seized my mind, and I remembered exactly what I was doing. The basket contained two dozed pearly white roses; pretty to perfection.
Yes, I murdered the white rabbit; yes, it was very tragic; yes, the little girl probably shouldn't have witnessed such a traumatic event. In any case:
"What am I doing," I replied, "what am I doing, little girl? I'm simply painting the roses red."