ETTING 
OME 
O 
LFANDRA
Anton's Journey chapter 7 - Rescue a Killer
ETTING OME O LFANDRA
Once again, the sky dropped Anton from it’s grasp.
Only this time, the ground was kinder than it’s heavenward kin. Instead
of being dashed against limbs or smashed against dirt, he found his landing
pleasantly… soft. Tumbling head over heels after being thrown by the girl
known only as Alice, he descended into the trees again. A soft bed of moss
sprang up to meet him as he speeded toward his mattress. Landing with a
grunt, he made a deep indent into the spongy floor, which was much better
than making dents in his bones. As he gingerly stood to his feet, he surveyed
his surroundings. It was, like he had seen, woodland. But it was more…
damp than Wonderland Woods. It was possible that in actual fact he was
still in Wonderland Woods, but… this place seemed more like a marsh than
anything else.
Whatever, he wanted out of this world. He’d thought
meeting murderous mice and bewildering acidic birds would have been the
most disturbing point of his visit. But that girl… Alice. An innocence
so pure corrupted with a rage and power so great. It was ultra-violence
personified. He only hoped he would never meet her again. How futile hopes
can be… He was angry. Fed up, distraught. He didn’t know if he wanted to
go on. His mind was filled with a maelstrom of chaotic images, right from
when he first crash-landed here, unwittingly. He wanted to scream, cry
out, but no sound was to be found. Instead his mind focused on the daunting
task of getting home, momentarily keeping him on track.
Sighing a long, slow, drawn out sigh, he began
to walk. What crazy situation would he find himself thrown into this time?
He’d come to learn by now that this land, Wonderland, didn’t let you go
anywhere - instead the places always seemed to come to you, and whatever
horrors with them. Wandering down a conveniently placed path from the clearing
through the marsh and wood from whence he came, he set out, his mind as
alert as any mind in this world could possibly be.
Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, he hadn’t gone
far before he heard something coming his way. More than one something,
more than one footfall… this he could tell with his hearing. The steps
were perfectly in time… sounded like people marching, and they weren’t
far away either. Gritting his teeth, he pondered upon what action should
be taken. He’d very much like to take his anger out right now on something,
but he decided against taking chances this time - he wasn’t prone to
recklessness easily, although he was leaning
that way. Quickly, he stepped off the path and ducked into a nearby shrub
to conceal himself, and peered out from behind the razor-tipped leaves.
Sure enough, from round a bend in the path, the strange procession came
into view. There were three figures in total, two of which were marching,
one of which was being dragged in the middle by the pair. The person who
seemed to be a captive he recognised as the bloodthirsty rodent he had
met after his swim through the pool of tears, but the men marching him
were a strange view to behold indeed. They were cards. Plain as day, they
were cards with hands, legs, and ugly heads, covered in warts, their noses
horridly hooked. One was the six of diamonds, the other the seven, and
in their calloused hands they each held wickedly sharp spears, which gleamed
unnaturally in the light of the marshland. Anton watched as they strolled
past his hiding place, back towards the clearing from whence he came, dragging
their captive along with them. The guards were also horridly thin, when
viewed from the side.
His curiosity aroused, Anton slunk down the scrubway,
following them back down the path, keeping out of sight. As a Were, he
was adequately skilled in the art of camouflage. He gritted his teeth and
observed the pair as they reached their destination, which appeared to
be the clearing.
Dropping mouse to the floor, who seemed rather
badly beaten, the seven turned to the six nonchalantly. “I don’t remember
all this moss being here.” He sneered, his hooked nose quivering.
“It wasn’t, I’m sure. But who gives a damn about
some damn weeds, when we got a job to do?”
Anton smirked to himself. It was that moss which
saved his life earlier.
The seven nodded to his companion and turned
his attention back towards mouse, who lay panting on the floor. He really
had been rather badly beaten, his ears were ragged and one of his teeth
was missing. He spat blood as he spoke. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”
Unrolling a scroll from his sleeve, six sneered
in a similar manner to his companion and spoke aloud. “By order of the
Red Queen, ruler of Wonderland, empress of the wastes, high-keeper of the
asylum of tortured souls, you are hereby charged and sentenced. How do
you plead O Mouse?” “Plead to what? You snotty-nosed, lanky excuse for
a soldier. If you didn’t have those fancy sticks of yours, I’d be on you
so fast…” Anton had to admire Mouse for his spirit.
Continuing his monologue, six continued, “You
are guilty of the crime of conspiring with outsiders, and thereby threatening
the Red State. By order of her Highness, The Red Queen, you are to be put
to death.” He almost relished speaking the words.
Mouse began to quiver all over. “It’s not fair!
I never helped him, he harassed me! It’s his fault!”
“Your guilt has been proven, and we are thereby
charged to carry out your sentence.” Seven said, levelling his weapon.
“Just try it!” Mouse spat, leaping towards him.
But in his wounded state, he was too slow, and was sent packing by the
butt of seven’s staff. He rested motionless on the floor stunned. Anton
watched as both six and seven raised their spears, ready to carry out the
sentence. He was undecided for awhile. Let them kill Mouse, after all,
he was a card-carrying killer. He’d watched him kill that bird… but he
felt guilty. It was all his fault that mouse was being executed… it nagged
his soul to think of that on his conscience. And it was clear that mouse
was obviously scared of retribution, this retribution when he’d killed.
Maybe he wasn’t a bad character after all, merely an animal pushed to the
brink by cruel conditions. For a moment longer, Anton paused on the brink
of indecision. Then he made up his mind, and shouting an animalistic cry,
he leapt from his hiding-place and at the unsuspecting duo.
Taken by surprise, Seven was his first target.
He barely managed to parry his surprise-assailant’s slash to his torso
with his weapon, without even time to think about where this stranger had
come from. But it was a weak parry, and the weapon slipped from his grasp.
Unarmed, he was defenceless as moments later a taloned fist drove into
his almost nonexistent gut, which was wrenched-free with a twist. As he
dropped his first victim to the floor, Anton turned is attention towards
six. The element of surprise gone, Anton found his opponent ready for him,
and had to dodge his opponent’s clumsy stab towards his face. He easily
ducked, and grabbed hold of the weapon. Wrenching it free, he used it to
deliver a brutal uppercut to six’s face, and heard the nose break. Six
staggered back, but Anton wasn’t known for mercy once he’d began a kill.
Taking his assailant’s weapon, he speared him through the chest. Blood
bubbled from six’s surprised lips, before he collapsed to the floor, lifeless
like his friend.
Mouse merely sat there, quivering as before.