An Orange Spiky Bush

You gasp, and impulsively fumble under the bush. There, lying proudly is a shiny silver key, its handle entwined with the shapes of hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. The end of the key which can be inserted into a keyhole is also an odd shape: the rivets spike like you would expect a crown to.

"Come..." one of the Tweedles takes you by the hand. You try to struggle but the outside is very calming and your mind seems to be stuck in jelly.

You are led to a little cupboard, and the Tweedles tell you to place the key into the appropriate lock-slot. It fits! You unlock the creaking old cupboard to see a pile of clothes lying on the shelf inside. There's a little silver bolero, and matching silver shoes, and...a chequered cerulean dress.

"I am not wearing this!" you yell at them.

One Tweedle rolls his dark, dreamy (don't look at him!) eyes. Suddenly, you find that your mind has been changed. There's something impulsive that makes you want to try the dress on.

Behind a large square hedge that's next to that small, shabby cupboard is (conveniently) one of those old-fashioned bathing-houses. You get changed quickly, and the Tweedles lead you on through the gardens.

You feel rather 'twee', all dressed up to the nines like a 50s gel; you don’t feel the most secure. Suddenly, one of the Tweedles sneaks up behind you, startling- and annoying- you. But, instead of doing something mean, he pushes up your hair, and places a necklace of pure diamonds around your neck.

Gasping, you fumble with the jewels, whilst you feel yourself sliding forward. You are being guided, almost pushed, in fact, but it doesn’t feel like that. You glide as though you are a princess, or a dream.

As the sound of trumpets, and cheering, charge at your ears, your eyes refocus at the scene around you. You are faced with the hustle and bustle of the beginnings of a hyperactive croquet game; spectators in white smocks with numbers and red or black shapes printed on them gasp and clap at the entrance of every grand person; a robed man with a staff is busy adjusting his high-peaked hat; and even a knight’s raven horse seems to be having a chardonnay with an obese walrus.

A plump woman wanders up to you, because, apparently, you’re now playing.

She greets you with a smile, but her words, and her large silver meringue dress, are not comforting:

“We’re missing two contestants. As you are the penultimate, the get the honour of choosing which colour ball to play with.”

You gaze over to where she is gesturing. A blue hedgehog and a yellow hedgehog are chasing each other in circles.

Hedgehogs as balls? Typical.

The End

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