Reversed Perspective: Alice in Wonderland
And when the rabbit saw the girl approach,
with bloodied hands and a smile that did not belong on the face of a child,
he turned his back and fled
so that her hands could not stain his snow white fur
in the same way they had stained
Rosina had spent years buildng her dream house. Decades. The design alone had taken at least two years, then came the sourcing of materials along with engineering around architectural issues, some redesign, negotiating labor contracts with local dwarfs (who always overcharged old ladies), and then finally getting the permits approved from the local kingdom's office of taxes and settlements. The ordeal had taken much of Rosina's golden years straight out of her teeth, but she had endured. The beauty that surrounded her daily had all truly been worth it.
Then of course some idiot's unsupervised children had shown up and wrecked it all.
Rosina had been inside baking when she heard the soft crunch of the little brats biting into the crown molding, their greedy little hands smudging dirty fingerprints all over her reinforced ginger siding. They'd ruined an entire window frame before she'd managed to round them up and herd the little sugar addicts into the shed out back.
Both the boy and his awful sister had whined and cried, spitting her own waterproofed royal icing back into her face. Such rudeness; not only did they trespass without any care for local home owners' rights but they complained when an adult actually reprimanded their appalling behavior. Rosina had several choice words for their parents, however she suspected nobody would be coming for them any time soon. Children this misbehaved often got left in the woods. Unfortunately nothing had found these two before they had found her little haven.
Growing up, Rosina loved sweets. She had spent hours with her own grandmother over an oven, baking and decorating from dawn till dusk. Not that it came without cost; Rosina's own frame has grown quite plump over the years, and her grandmother had suffered from sugar sickness during the last few years of her life. Yet her passion for pastries and puffs never wavered; and when the time came for Rosina to retire she finally had the means to bring her dream to reality.
As she surveyed the damage, Rosina determined a little extra spackle from her supplies in the basement should patch the holes the little devils had left just fine. No need to call for any dwarven estimator; she'd handle it herself. Rolling up her sleeves she got to work on repairs, hurrying before any chance of rain came.
It took her nearly three days to repair the damage, ensuring at least two fresh coats of frosting along the area they had nibbled. The entire time the two brats had done nothing but howl from the shed. She had ignored them, not bothering to feed or even check that they still lived since she had thrown them inside. Secretly she hoped they would just die off, but the noise had started bothering the local wildlife and Rosina didn't need to attract more trouble. She'd have to take care of it herself.
After repairing the window casement to her satisfaction, she went inside and put more wood under the old oven. Rosina held only a sweettooth - children as rotten as these could never satiate her palate - but wasting fresh food felt wrong. Maybe the wolf next door would appreciate a nice mincemeat pie. After carefully preparing a crust, she put on her apron, sharpened her drywall saw, and headed out to the shed.
She supposed she should have fattened them up a bit first, but honestly they'd already wasted precious resources on her home. She could just add more potatoes.
Sadly, Rosina never finished her thoughtful pie for her kind neighbor the Wolf. Just as she had raised the saw to chop up the little boy, his wretched little sister had shoved her inside the open oven door, slamming it shut and roasting poor Rosina alive in her own sanctuary of sugar. The quiet retirement she had hoped for would never be. Only the torment of a fiery death, and the horror of realizing those two spoiled imps would eat their way through her dream home before her ashes could cool.
Mary had a lonesome demon,
its horns were red as blood.
And everywhere that Mary went,
the demon was sure to make a scene.
It followed her to school in may
for television amused it less day by day
It tormented the children to cry and prey,
- punishing their poor souls to please its master in school.
Be a Marilyn
I am a difficult woman - or so the weaklings tell me. Growing up, I was always taught that education comes first, then marriage and if I’m lucky, a career. Most important of all - of course marry for love - but marry a man with means.
“Women are either a Jackie or a Marilyn.”
Jackie was poised and elegant.If she were to get an academy award, then it would be for Best Supporting Wife. She ignored JFK’s many flings and put up with his family, who treated her as a no good outsider. She kept to the shadows and only focused on dressing well and making a good public appearance. She was dutiful, submissive and obedient.
“Women should strive to be like Jackie.”
That is what women are told even now. Just look at the movies. How many “ride-or-die” characters are expected to be women? How many movies praise a woman who “stands by her man” even though he likely abuses drugs, verbally assaults her and gives her a few hits. It’s just a few! They’re meant to be a couple - she just needs to fix him!
Life gives women enough projects and we don’t need another. But now, look at how few movies and shows depict a supporting man. A man who supports a woman is called a “simp” and other derogatory terms because even in 2020, a woman is still less.
She earns less. She’s worth less. She’s praised less.
Norma Jean Baker was nothing special. She married her first husband to get out of the foster care system. In true Hollywood fairytale fashion, she was “discovered.” She already had the body so she simply dyed her hair, assumed a new name and created her now famous “bimbo” personality. She was born in a time when women had to use what they had to get ahead. In this case, it was Marilyn’s sexuality.
Go ahead. Judge her. Many of you do while you ignore the benefits we have in 2020 that she had no access to. You think they had #metoo in 1955? Women were expected to sleep with producers and directors for money. Marilyn just bet on all the right horses and catapulted her name to international stardom.
Marilyn was no one’s supporting actress. She married the most famous baseball player in the world and yet the press emblazoned her name on the papers first. DiMaggio might as well have been Mr. Monroe.
She was the Best Actress of her own life. She eclipsed anyone who stood next to her and now, almost 60 years later we still refer to her as a sex symbol. Her movies still sell well and her face appears in paintings, tattoos and on other various merchandise. She has long been in the ground but we still remember her.
So be a Marilyn and let everyone else be a Jackie.