Alex in Dramaland

Everything falls before your eyes before you know it. You take one look through that magical mirror and everything begins to fall, including yourself. You’re falling downward, spiraling, into the abyss that lays below you. You look down, but you can’t predict where you’re doing to land. It’s all in a matter of timing -- and imagination. You become what you want to be. And this is where it stands. This is Dramaland.

And see, that’s the crazy part. There’s no mirror here. There’s no tea parties and crazy hats and…

“I have never seen someone so oblivious to everything around them as much as you,” Mr. Handel softly said, looking up at me over his rounded glasses and cluttered desk. My essay was on top, marked with a fat red X. I could read the font sized-48 from where I was standing. Imagination and Society. “Do you really feel like you’re doing to make a difference? Look around you. Everyone else is being aware, why aren’t you?”

I merely chuckled and gathered up my notebooks, cradling them in my arms as I walked to the door. I stopped, right underneath the threshold and turned my head to him.

“That’s because, Mr. Handel, the ones that appear the most oblivious are being the most observant,” I said poignantly, nodding my good-day to him as I walked out. My head was held high as I noticed him rush to the door, wanting to retort to my statement. However, from that sole statement, I created a self-confidence in myself that it was almost unreal. I stood up to someone who doubted me.

And that’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

The susurration of the wind gently caressed my cheek as I shoved the metallic door wide open, the autumn leaves and gathering piles of them welcomed me outside. My eyes closed by themselves as my feet walked me outside to the bitter fall. I clenched my jacket tighter around me as the breeze became a gusting wind, blowing the piles of leaves away as only a mere memory.


“We used to tell her all the time she was a wunderkind, but it’s like she already knew,” Mom quietly said, looking over to Dad. An analyst with a notepad nodded, as if to tell her to keep going. I rolled my eyes. “Alexandra’s very talented -- she’s very mature for her age, and we realize that. But she thinks she’s better than everyone else, that she’s better than the work she’s doing at school.”

“I understand, Mrs. Greaves,” the analyst replied. Her voice was nasal and very monotone. Her black hair was wrapped tightly in a bun with a single stick through it, pointing towards the thick glasses that sat on the middle-aged woman’s nose. “When did Alexandra start… acting this way?”

“I don’t know... As long as we can remember…” She looked over to my father for support, then back at The Woman. This, I decided, is when my ears closed and I focused on the computer screen in front of me. I was being very careful to maintain my sang-froid, despite the circumstances. The Woman was fairly arrogant and bitter -- as far as appearances go -- she wanted to carry herself as a grandee, looking down on her (rather pointy, almost witch-like) nose. The Woman was esurient with information about me. My past, where I came from, who I grew up with, my personality…

To be honest, I felt… a little violent. My calm nerves were coming to their ends, and I felt my anger arise in me. My blood began to boil. I was absolutely pugnacious. Although if I blew up in front of The Woman, I would be shipped off to the funny farm for sure, stamped with a colourful disorder, and locked away.

A horrible epigone, The Woman was. Her knee shook with either anticipation or nervousness -- I couldn’t really tell. One thing was for certain, however -- I knew The Woman was a deceitful, capricious bitch.

There was something irrefragable: The Woman would go down.