Chaos in the Cards: Part 1
Alys was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her the team members on the planning bank, and of having nothing to do. Their project was no ordinary one. Its requirements constantly changed colors like a chameleon racing across a mosaic wall, its resources vanished like rabbits in mad magician’s hat, and the deadline came hurtling toward them like a derailed train.
Alys didn’t know where to turn—everything was moving, everything was spinning, her team was upside down…
The plans lay before them, neatly folded like origami cranes, but the moment they were meant to be spoken aloud, they flew away and disappeared as if they had never existed. The team, once so carefully organized and coordinated, seemed to collapse in on itself like a fragile house of cards. In the midst of this chaos, a dark hole suddenly opened, and Alys fell—fell into the dark burrow, the deck of cards swirling anxiously around her, and together they plunged into the depths—down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alys soon surrendered to the flight into the unknown.
When she finally landed—solid ground and bewildered playing cards beneath her feet—she looked up and glanced around.
“What a curious place,” she murmured as she spotted, in the otherwise impenetrable darkness, an obscure, shimmering door right in front of her nose, flickering faintly. It bore a wooden sign that read: “Welcome to Project Wonderland – Structure Forbidden, Surprise Guaranteed.”
Alys gathered her courage; the scattered playing cards shook themselves off and followed her, floating softly, as she stepped boldly through the door.
No sooner had she reached the other side than a white, fluffy figure appeared beside her. “Too late! Too late!” cried the rabbit frantically, tapping wildly on a tablet in his paws and nervously tugging at his coat. From his vest pocket fell a ardently ticking pocket watch. “The deadline is near!” wheezed the watch, tapping its hand in warning. “What to do, what to do?” muttered the rabbit; his watch tapped impatiently, his tablet beeped in protest. “The service provider speaks in riddles! No plan, no resources, the house of cards is gone—no time, no time!”
“How about improvising?” suggested Alys, while the cards whirled around her head like an angry cloud of mosquitoes.
The rabbit looked up, his shimmering button eyes wide. “Improvising, yes! But not just like that—not without a plan!”
“I thought that was exactly the point?” Alys said flabbergasted, putting her hands on her hips. The rabbit’s snow-white fur bristled, his nose was twitching reproachfully. “Be flexible, yes—but not aimlessly. Decide in the moment, but cleverly, with skill. You have to play the cards right—”
“—but I don’t know the hand!”
“No obstacle! The house cannot build itself, but it also won’t come together by itself either—it’s a group dance, not a puppet show.”
The playing cards twisted excitedly in the air and circled merrily around Alys’s head. She watched them thoughtfully and reached out her hand to them. “What can I do?” she asked the rabbit, who was hopping more and more anxiously from one paw to the other.
“No time to lose! There isn’t any left!”
“But—”
“We must hurry—the tea is getting cold. No time!”
Alys followed her white companion and his babbling pocket watch. They walked along an inconspicuous path through the darkness, past silvery structure mist, writhing service-provider tendrils, and bewildered structure mushrooms. After they had followed a colorful weaving-spider creature to the foot of a forested hill, they heard the cheerful chatter of a merry tea party.
As Alys stepped onto the clearing lined with springy bushes, the clinking of porcelain and the whisper of steaming tea reached her ears. A tall, lanky figure sat on an oversized chair that seemed to have decided, all on its own, to be larger than necessary.
The man wore a jumble of colorful clothes and a hat that not only looked extremely homemade but also distinctly footnoted. The other figure at the crooked table was as tall as the Hatmaker, but unlike him, round and furry—with a gray-brown pelt, long floppy ears, and a tattered, perspective-bending cape. The Spring Hare held out a brimming, steaming cup of tea to Alys when he saw her, and the Hatmaker smiled at her happily.
“Sit down, sit down!” he cried cheerfully, inviting Alys to take the seat to his right, which politely bowed to her. The white coney hopped past her and took his place on the fourth chair, his pocket watch still chirping, his tablet humming expectantly. The deck of cards followed and stacked itself neatly on the lavishly set table.
“We were just discussing the paths to understanding and the weaving together of subjective worlds of meaning,” the Hatmaker began. “A delightful tea blend for the mind! Very tangy.”
Alys frowned. “That sounds almost… reasonable.”
“All the more dangerous!” cried the Spring Hare, striking the table with a fork, from which a butterfly escaped.
The Hatmaker adjusted his footnotes so they now sat crooked on his forehead, and continued: “First we give our thoughts a form everyone can agree on—they become things, cups, clocks, rules! Visible to all, useful to all.” He held up his teacup, and Alys saw living letters swimming inside it. When she tilted her head, the steaming letters formed a meaningful word: Objectification. “A thought, as solid as porcelain!”
The rabbit with the white lapin cleared his throat with a chirp and laid his humming tablet on the tea table. “Then everyone must bring their inner impressions out into the world. Everyone must externalize their assessments.”
The pale rabbit eyed the Hatmaker and said, “The cup is too small.”
“For my fingers?”
“No, for the tea.”
“I poured too much.”
“Not at all—the cup is too small.”
“Give it some concept cake.”
“That won’t make it grow—it’ll just degenerate.”
“I’ll smash it and piece it back together differently; then perhaps it’ll be just what we need!”
The crockery clinked nervously, and the Spring Hare’s saucer, lying beside a large serving dish, hopped toward the cookie bowl and tapped hopefully at a crumb of perspective with its edge.
The Spring Hare followed the exchange of his tea companions with reverent attention and then added, “When all the things we have created, the things we have agreed upon, crawl back into us, into our thoughts, our actions, and change us from within: That is how the world becomes a part of us, and everyone helps to build it.”
He crumbled a cookie and dusted his saucer with it; the saucer promptly internalized the cookie dust and transformed its porcelain into a tiny hammer. The Spring Hare handed the hammer to his white-furred colleague, who swung it against the Hatmaker’s cup. The Hatmaker took the shards into his hands, pressed them together, kneaded and shaped the pieces until something new emerged.
The new cup, smooth and golden, was the size of a soup dish and, freshly formed, grinned around at the tea party. “A fine concept,” nodded the snowy rabbit. “Very pretty,” said the other rodent. “And it’s bottomless—now it will never overflow!” the Hatmaker added cheerfully.
Alys thought for a moment, gazing at the infinite teacup. Her fingers drifted absently over the tablecloth, which flowed over her knees and felt like living parchment. “But why are you telling me all this?”
The Hatmaker now looked at her with an unusually serious expression.
“Because, my dear, all of Wonderland is nothing more than a play of these three forces. But the Red Regent has shattered the project and is preventing our realities from coming together again. Only you can stop the decay now and save our sensory realms. If you succeed, if you make it through the maze of uncertainty and past the ruthless Regent—the heavy fog will dissipate, and you can pass back through the Mirror of Reflection and leave the chaos behind you.”
“How do I find the way through the maze?” asked Alys, who seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the sudden revelation.
“Spontaneity. You must shrink or grow, as needed.”
Alys frowned and sipped her tea thoughtfully. She swallowed. It tasted of responsibility and rose petals. Bittersweet. Exciting. A gentle breeze blew. The trees whispered promisingly. The rabbit’s white fur twitched, resisting the urge to consult his pocket watch. Finally, Alys gathered all her determination and stood. “I will find the way.” The tea party beamed at her encouragingly.
With one last look at the mad, wondrous table, Alys turned toward the path that led between rubble-roses and thought-games toward the maze…
(To be continued…)