Asher in Wonderland

“Nothing?” My voice came out tinged with confusion. “You’re saying nothing is wrong with me?”

“Nada,” Doctor Josiah replied, his tone breezy as he slipped the paper he’d read back into his coat pocket.

That couldn't be right. “Nada?”

“Exactamundo.” He folded his arms.

The quick, casual answers were only fueling my doubt. I raised my brows and spun my hand in a 'keep going' gesture. “Elaborate?”

Josiah sighed, straddling a chair backward and resting his arms over it, tapping his temple. “There’s nothing going on in that noodle up there.”

Takashi saw his opportunity. “Tell us something we don’t know!”

I rolled my eyes, but a hint of unease crept in.

Doctor Josiah leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing some forbidden knowledge. “Truthfully? The hospital’s been bleeding funds, hoping you’d be some big breakthrough case. But now… they cut off our funding. They’re moving on.”

I could accept the hospital’s decision—I was just another number on a budget sheet. But their apathy stung. The headaches I got whenever I tried to remember my parents—those were real. Now they were telling me it didn’t matter, and if it did, it was too much trouble to figure out. If I pushed any harder, they’d probably label me as unstable, maybe even send me to the psych ward.

I glanced at him, trying to steer the conversation away from me. “So, what happens to you? With the study canceled?”

Josiah waved off my concern. “They’re not exactly thrilled, but I think they can see we made progress. Pharma companies aren’t all as cold-hearted as you’d think.”

I gave a slight tilt of my head, unconvinced. “Optimistic much?”

At the window, Fleur gazed out at the hospital courtyard below, her expression calm, as if finding meaning in the ebb and flow of morning visitors.

Josiah noticed her looking down as he responded to me. “You need a bit of optimism to make it through this kind of job. If you keep looking down, you'll never see the big picture.”

“The big picture?” Takashi asked with some confusion.

“It's a turn of phrase.” Josiah looked over at him.

The doctor’s hand clapped sharply, a sudden switch in energy. “All right, enough chatter! Since we’re all here, let’s throw a farewell party!”

Takashi’s eyes lit up, and he practically leaped out of his chair. “Oh, that reminds me! Asher, I got you something!”

He patted his pockets, digging around like an elderly man fumbling for loose change. “Here!”

“You shouldn’t have…”

No, he really shouldn’t have. In my outstretched hand, he dropped a handful of pencil toppers—bright pink pigs and blue dogs, the kind you’d find at a dollar store.

“I know you’re always trying to write stuff and I figured maybe it’d help you out if you make a bunch of mistakes,” Takashi said, looking proud of himself.

I guess it’s the thought that counts. I just hated to tell him that I mostly write with a pen, so these erasers weren’t going to be much help.

“T-thanks, Takashi.”

As I walked over to the guest table to drop off the erasers, Fleur reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, rectangular package. I immediately abandoned the pencil toppers and hurried over to her.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked, excitement bubbling up.

Fleur looked a bit startled by how quickly I’d closed the distance. She held the gift out cautiously, like she was feeding a wild animal. Realizing I’d rushed her, I backed off a bit to give her some space.

“It’s… not quite what you think. But I hope it’s something you’ll like.”

Just as I was about to grab the package, the nurse entered, pushing a cart loaded with various foods and drinks.

“Ah, Martha!” Josiah exclaimed with a theatrical flourish. “You brought the hors d’oeuvres!”

Martha, clearly unfazed by his antics, rolled her eyes. “You mean appetizers?”

With his finger pointed skyward, then back down to point at me, Doctor Josiah rebounded. “Am I wrong to cherish the beauty of the English dictionary, Asher?”

I smirked, crossing my arms. “You mean the French thesaurus?”

Josiah pretended to clutch his heart, dropping to his knees. “Et tu, Asher?”

Takashi and Fleur laughed, and Ms. Martha shook her head, muttering as she headed for the door. “Kids, enjoy yourselves. Doctor, come see me in the hall when you’re done—another patient’s waiting.”

Josiah sighed but nodded. “Very well. Kids, I’ll see you all later.”

“Bye, Doctor!” Takashi said, waving.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” Fleur added politely.

“Doctor,” I called out before he left. “Thank you for everything.”

He looked at me for a moment, blinked, then looked away. “We’ll talk later, Asher. Enjoy yourself.”

Something about his tone felt hollow, like there was something he’d yet to tell me. He grabbed his things and followed Martha out the door.

“Hey, Asher!” Takashi’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I’m taking all the potstickers, okay?”

“No way, those are mine!” I snapped back, and the heaviness dissolved as we all dug into the snacks.

Takashi entertained us with café stories, his mouth full half the time. Fleur chipped in with anecdotes about her music classes, though her quiet voice was sometimes lost beneath Takashi’s cheerful rambling. My turn came, and I launched into a small monologue on a couple of books I’d been reading.

Fleur, however, kept glancing at her phone, a subtle tension in the way she avoided looking directly at me. After a few minutes, she stood up. "I… I should get going," she murmured, avoiding eye contact.

Takashi glanced up, confused. “What? Already?”

Fleur hesitated, then looked at me for a moment before answering, “My mom wants me home early.” There was something unsaid in the way she said it, something a little apologetic. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, and she added, “She wouldn’t like me being here.”

With a quick, tight smile, she turned toward the door. I couldn't help but feel that her mother’s disapproval hung over the moment, and I didn’t press her further. Takashi, none the wiser, gave a cheerful wave. “Take care, Fleur!”

Takashi lingered a little longer, keeping the conversation light as we bounced between random topics. But gradually, the energy in the room shifted, settling into a quiet that felt almost… reflective. Takashi leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table, his gaze distant.

“You ever think about… what you’re supposed to be?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

I gave him a curious look, surprised by the question. “Supposed to be? Like… what do you mean?”

He kept his eyes on the table, his tone thoughtful. “You know… when people expect you to follow something… someone important.” He hesitated, then added, “Like, remember Minamoto no Yoshitomo?”

I blinked, surprised by the reference. “The Kamakura Shogun?”

Takashi nodded slowly, his expression unusually serious. “Yeah. You told me about him—the way he built this big legacy. But then his sons? They had to fill in all the space he left behind.” He glanced up, something heavy in his gaze. “Do you ever think about that? Trying to… measure up to someone who’s not even around anymore?”

His words felt loaded, the way he said it with a mix of respect and… something else. I didn’t answer right away, sensing he wasn’t really looking for one. Instead, I let him go on.

He continued, his voice barely above a murmur. “It’s gotta be rough, right? Trying to live up to something that isn’t there. But… it’s like you have to keep pushing, even if you’re never sure if you’ll get close enough.”

I nodded, understanding in a way I couldn’t quite explain. “Yeah, I think… maybe everyone’s got something like that, something they’re trying to live up to.”

Takashi let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. You just… keep going anyway, because… what else are you supposed to do?”

“Takashi—” I began, wanting to say something comforting, but he suddenly reached down to grab his cane, gripping it tightly as he stood up. The legs of his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Hey, I better get going,” he said, forcing a smile back onto his face. “Mom’s opening the café early tomorrow, and I promised I’d help.”

“O-okay…” I started, wanting to ask if he was alright, but the look on his face told me he was ready to leave. “I’ll see you later.”

He gave a quick wave, his usual grin back in place, but there was something in his expression—something that didn’t quite match the smile.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled over the room. I exhaled, sinking further into the bed, the weight of solitude pulling me deeper. I needed a moment to recenter.

As I stared up at the ceiling, the minutes stretched on, too quiet, too still. My gaze eventually drifted to the guest table, where Fleur's package still sat, untouched.

I’d completely forgotten about it! With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. Walking over to the table, I picked up the package.

The shape was unmistakable—a book. I traced the edges of the paper with my fingers, feeling the spine beneath. The temptation to tear it open was strong, but I hesitated. I’d wait to open it in front of her. I wanted to see her reaction too.

Setting it aside, I grabbed a book I had shared with the others. It was Alice in Wonderland, a story about a girl lost in daydreams, sitting by the riverbank when she glimpses a white rabbit and, without thinking, tumbles down a rabbit hole into a world that defies everything she knows. There, the rules she grew up with—time, size, even reason—unravel, and familiar things take on strange, unsettling forms. She shrinks to the size of a mouse, meets a grinning Cheshire Cat whose smile lingers in the air long after he’s gone, and joins a tea party frozen at six o’clock, caught in endless hour.

I understood that feeling. I longed for something outside the confines of my reality, for a world that wasn’t as safe, sterile, and predictable as this hospital. Every day was the same—the same white walls, the soft echo of footsteps in the halls, the Angelus bells ringing each evening. It was all so controlled, so closed-off, like living in a cycle I couldn’t break.

But my dreams were different. They were wild, uncharted, and strange. No matter how terrifying they could be, they made me feel alive in a way this place never could.

Sometimes I wondered if I was the one chasing something in those dreams—or if they were reaching out to me. Either way, when I closed the book, the hospital room felt smaller, like the walls had drawn a little closer, pressing in on me. Just for a moment, I wanted nothing more than to tumble down that rabbit hole myself, to let go of reality and plunge into whatever waited on the other side.

Outside, the sky had turned to a deep orange, with streaks of light hitting the ocean. From my window, I saw teenagers down by the pier, playing tag as flocks of birds flew in sync. The evening Angelus bell tolled in the distance. It was a good sign that the day was over and I should get some rest.

I went back to my bed and stared up at the ceiling, knowing it would be my last night here. I thought about the time I’d spent in this place and the nothing it had all amounted to. I’d been sitting on the sidelines, unable to confront whatever lay buried in my past. For a few minutes, I just lay there, letting the weight of it sink in—and then, I cried myself to sleep, knowing that these two years had been wasted.

That was the last night I’d dream…

BONG. BONG. BONG.

My eyes shot open. This wasn’t like yesterday morning, when I’d fought the pull of sleep. No, I was fully awake—clear-headed, alert, more sober than I’d ever felt.

The room was bathed in faint moonlight. I’d never woken up in the middle of the night here, so I sat up, taking in the quiet beauty of the moon through my window.

Why? Why am I awake at this hour? Why had I never stayed up to see this? After all those books I’d read describing the beauty of the hours after dark…

A throbbing headache started, the same kind I got whenever I thought about my parents.

“Tch—why now?” I muttered, squeezing my head with both hands and rolling off the bed onto my side.

BAM.

The pain from hitting the floor distracted me from the headache. I took a second to writhe in discomfort before forcing myself to stand.

Whenever I had these headaches, I usually wrote in my journal, so I walked over to my bedside table to grab it.

“Where is it?” I mumbled, confused. “Where’s my journal?”

I’d left it here, yet…

“Where?!” I scrambled, looking under the table to see if it had fallen. No, not there.

The headache flared up again.

“Gah!” I walked over to the emergency button on the side of my bed and pressed it several times, hoping someone would respond. I stood there for a moment, repeatedly buzzing the button, until I finally got fed up and started heading toward the hallway.

“Someone? Anyone? Ms. Martha?” I called out to anyone on my hospital floor. I wandered over to a nearby room, keeping myself upright by leaning against the wall.

Maybe if I can find another room with a working buzzer, I can get some help.

That was my plan, but to my surprise, when I looked through the tinted door window, no one was there. That couldn’t be right—the doorplate had a patient name on it, so someone should be in bed.

I tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t have the strength to kick it down with this piercing headache—not that I could without it, either. So I kept trudging along, going from door to door, bumping into a hospitality station and a few waiting chairs. But with each door I checked, it was the same: a nameplate, but no person inside.

The headache was worsening. I could barely stand, so as a last-ditch effort, I headed to the elevator at the end of the hallway. There had to be someone on the first floor who could help me.

I pressed the down button repeatedly, enduring the splitting pain. After a few moments, the doors slid open, and I collapsed onto the elevator floor.

“I made it,” I sighed, exhausted. I couldn’t muster the energy to get up after everything it had taken to get here, so I just lay there on the elevator floor, saving what little energy I had left. I didn’t even care about how unsanitary it was—I was just glad I’d made it.

DING.

Ah, the first floor—

I looked at the level indicator, only to realize in dismay that I wasn’t going to the first floor of the hospital.

I was going down. Down, down, down.

Suddenly, I felt the elevator snap off its cables, the friction of the metal cage scraping against the shaft. The speed of the fall was beyond comprehension.

“Oh shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, trying to pull myself up using the support rail.

I was in free fall, and eventually, I was going to hit the ground and turn into a human pancake. So I held on for dear life, plummeting down this endless rabbit hole.

Then, the elevator began to tear. I couldn’t tell if it was the sheer speed shredding it apart like a satellite descending from orbit, but the longer it fell, the more the metal tore and twisted.

I was focused on my own survival, but through each tear, I could glimpse the world outside—a world unlike any I’d known. A purple sky, scattered with bright, shining stars, stretched beyond the gaps, their light reflecting faintly in the elevator’s mirror.

I caught a glimpse of my own terrified face, trying to psyche myself up for the inevitable landing.

I hoped the elevator wouldn’t be my death cage—and God, how I wished that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. At that exact moment, the ground tore open like a sheet of paper, and I fell straight through.

“Well, call me Ishma— AHH!” I screamed, louder than I ever had. The roar of the fall quickly swallowed my voice.

I hoped, prayed even, that there’d be a conveniently placed cushion waiting for me, like something straight out of a cartoon. But I knew better. So, finally, I gave in, closed my eyes, and braced for impact.

But there was no impact.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t falling anymore. Instead, I was lying on the pavement at a three-way crossroads on a strange, yet oddly familiar, island. Somehow, I’d survived.

“This is crazy…” I muttered. “There’s no way any of this is real. It’s so obvious this is a dream.”

Shifting from lying down to sitting cross-legged, I let out a shaky breath. My headache had subsided, for now, but that was the least of my worries. I closed my eyes again, hoping that when I opened them, I’d wake back up.