Things aren't always what they seem in Wonderland
Blood. There was blood everywhere. There was blood splattered on the walls, smeared across the windows, dripping into the cracks in between the floorboards—and it was beautiful.
Even more beautiful was the dead body of the boy from next door, propped up at the dinner table across from Alice. His eyes were sewn shut because he used them to peek in Alice’s windows at night and watch her undress. His teeth were yanked out, and his tongue was cut out so that he couldn’t tell her anymore of his secret perversions. His hands were sliced off and lying in a heap on the floor so that never again could he hold Alice down against her will.
He was certainly already dead, and Alice’s pretty white dress was soaked through with his blood but there was still one thing left to do. She picked up the barbecue fork from the table and on tiptoes crossed over to the other side of the table.
“You’re so much nicer this way,” she whispered in the boy’s ear before kissing his cheek.
In a flash, she plunged the fork through his lap. A streak of blood shot out from the pierced flesh and decorated the right side of Alice’s face. With a finger she spread the blood across her cheek in swirly patterns and hummed a haunting tune.
There was a crash of groceries hitting the floor and a scream as the boy’s mother came home and beheld the murder scene.
“There’s no need to be sad, Mrs. Foster,” said Alice sweetly. “I fixed him.”