I wasn’t late. I was on time. And yes, there’s a huge difference, one you’d better understand before you start pointing fingers. Sure, I may have said I was late, but that’s just how we got by in Wonderland. You know, like when you tell someone, ‘Oh no, I’m so sorry I’m late!’ when, in reality, you’ve been standing around for 15 minutes contemplating faking your own death just to avoid a conversation? Yeah, that kind of ‘late.’

And then she showed up. Alice. Blonde, wide-eyed, and somehow always two steps behind common sense. I was standing there, checking my pocket watch like any sophisticated rabbit would, and what did she do? She followed me. Not just a quick ‘Hey, Rabbit, what’s the time?’—no, she dove headfirst into my rabbit hole like it was some kind of carnival attraction. I don’t know if she thought there’d be a gift shop at the bottom, but I’ll tell you this: she’s lucky she didn’t break a leg.

Let’s make one thing crystal clear—Wonderland wasn’t exactly OSHA-compliant. We didn’t have railings, safety protocols, or even basic logic half the time. Gravity worked when it felt like it. Reality folded in on itself if you weren’t paying attention. The clocks ran backward, sideways, upside down—you name it. So you’d think maybe, just maybe, she’d see the hole and think, ‘You know what? Maybe today’s not the day I go spelunking into the unknown.’ But no. Down she went, all limbs flailing, like some deranged skydiver who’d forgotten her parachute.

And you know what? I didn’t invite her. No one did. Wonderland didn’t run a tourist service, and there certainly wasn’t a ‘Wonderland Open House’ sign hanging out front. If there had been, I would’ve taken it down. News flash: Wonderland’s population was perfectly fine without unsolicited visitors falling into our laps—literally.

She landed in Wonderland after what felt like an eternity of flailing (I had time to grab a snack and read a chapter of War and Peace, if that gives you an idea), and what did she do? She immediately started treating the place like her own personal escape room. ‘Oh, look at me! I’m too big! Now I’m too small! Why is everything so strange here?’ Really, Alice? You just fell down a hole the size of a small country, and that’s the part you found weird?

Meanwhile, I was over here, trying to stick to a schedule. I had places to be, tea to drink, and—oh, you know—a life to live. Wonderland was a balancing act at the best of times. You had to know where to step to avoid getting caught in paradoxes or time loops, and I had it down to a science. But with Alice? She crashed through Wonderland like a wrecking ball, smashing through the delicate chaos we had carefully cultivated for years.

Oh, why is this cat smiling like that? What’s in this bottle? Could I keep this mushroom? No, Alice, you couldn’t just take things. This wasn’t some sort of twisted yard sale!

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Now let me tell you, Wonderland was running just fine before Alice came along. Sure, it was chaotic, but it was our chaos. The Caterpillar smoked his hookah in peace, the Mad Hatter ran his tea parties like a well-oiled machine (if the machine was always five minutes off schedule), and the Queen of Hearts kept things lively with her “Off with their heads!” business. It was all perfectly normal—for Wonderland. But Alice? She poked around like she was the host of some bizarre reality show where the goal was to annoy as many Wonderland residents as possible. And, believe me, she was winning.

I thought the Mad Hatter’s tea party would slow her down. Maybe break her brain a little. It usually worked. That’s where logic went to die, after all. But Alice? She fit in like she’d been born for it. The March Hare and Dormouse didn’t even faze her! Meanwhile, I was just hoping she’d get so caught up in their endless, senseless riddles that I could slip away unnoticed. Nope. Not Alice. She treated it like trivia night—jumping in with all the wrong answers and still thinking she won.

Then, of course, there’s the Queen. You’d think she’d scare Alice off, right? I mean, this was the Queen of Hearts we were talking about—infamous for her decapitation requests. But no, Alice had to turn the whole thing into a courtroom drama. She was all, ‘You can’t just yell “Off with their heads!” without evidence.’ Evidence? This was Wonderland, not Law & Order: The Wonderland Special.

And the trial? Oh, please. You thought it was over something serious, like treason or tax evasion? Nope. Tarts. Yes, royal tarts. Apparently, someone stole a few pastries, and instead of installing a security system (which I highly recommended), the Queen decided to put the Knave of Hearts on trial. It was a circus, I tell you. The jury was a bunch of sleepy animals, the Queen was yelling about decapitation, and Alice? She was over there acting like she was Perry Mason, demanding cross-examinations. This wasn’t a courtroom, Alice! It was more like a game show where the prize was keeping your head attached.

And then—oh, this is rich—she tried to explain time to me. Me, the White Rabbit. The one who literally ran by a pocket watch! This was Wonderland, Alice. I had been late, early, and everywhere in between. You didn’t need to tell me how time worked here. The nerve!

That was when I knew. I couldn’t do it anymore. Wonderland had always been mad, but it was our kind of mad. The kind you could live with because it never questioned itself. But Alice made us question everything—our clocks, our logic, even our tea parties. And after dealing with her, I reached my breaking point. I was done running, done with tea parties, and definitely done with tarts.

So I did what any sensible White Rabbit would do—I quit. Dropped my watch. Dropped my waistcoat. Packed a bag and left Wonderland behind. Took a permanent vacation. Somewhere far away, where people were sane, rabbits just ate carrots, and no one chased me down holes.

But even here, in the real world, people wouldn’t leave me alone. ‘Oh, Mr. Rabbit, where’s Alice? Are you taking her on another adventure?’ No. No, I was not. And if anyone sees her, tell her I’m not late—I’m gone.

And so, that’s my story. If you ever see a blonde girl in a blue dress chasing after something, do yourself a favor: let her catch it. Trust me, it’s easier that way. Give her a cup of tea, and she’ll eventually get bored. But whatever you do, don’t offer her a pocket watch.

The end.