Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: illustration

  • Story: The Frog King Kisses Many – 20/08/19

    Story: The Frog King Kisses Many – 20/08/19

    The Frog King had kissed many princesses in his time. None were to his liking, his tastes, the flavour of human was too overwhelming. He had no idea why he was required to couple up with a human being, when of his own species he felt an overwhelming inkling, a great fondness of feeling. It had somehow been programmed into his royal family that he was to rule the Primitive Pond Kingdom with a regal lady, not his frog princesses that he witnessed each morning playing with tadpoles so merrily. He felt an inner angst when he walked by them, in the heart of the pond’s town, he was regal himself, majestic, well grown, he was strong enough to be firm with the rules, make them unfold. But he couldn’t go against the manners of his sovereign state, he knew he had to conform, lest the kingdom fall into ruin, saving it from mortification and embarrassment, it would be too late to relearn.

    Every morning, he was required to parade to the Crossroads, where there was a chair, a small table, and a little umbrella, the frogs called it a Dating Brolly. Here he would sit, for hours on end, meeting human princess after human princess who would apply to be seated with him, but then – when they leaned in for the inevitable kiss, which should alter the right one into a hopeful Princess Frog or Queen, he could not help but pull away, disgusted of this practice he was, of this be assured. Leaning in closer, their lips made a smmmmack! And no transformation ever was there, this was a blatant fact. Now Frog King had to deal with saliva upon his lips, wiping away the remnants of their unwanted kisses, and then oh wait, would you look at the time, it was nine o’clock – or some such – he would claim he had another engagement at a quarter past nine! And toddle away with the brolly would he, wherever he desired to go, feeling the heavy breathing behind him of the human princesses who downright refused to go, they stalked him, they followed him, displeased with him, yet desiring him, they simply would not take the obvious hint. So with a great bounce and a hip-hip-hippity-hop Frog King would be gone, of their presence disappeared, completely flown.

    Despite his high intelligence, Frog King didn’t seem to completely compute or accept that he could alter the rules of his neighbourhood, that he could rewrite the laws, make them plain and easy to see, that this current Frog King could decide to be single and no longer forced to mingle, he would not be required to kiss many who waited each morning in a desperate, heaving, heavy breathing crowd, for goodness sake’s he now realised that he had kissed some more than three times on consecutive days! It was difficult to keep track of the women when he was utterly bored and still lonely, their company was nothing of interest to him, for their human lives were tedious to hear of, and complete garbage, useless baloney! Even when the thought faintly crossed his mind that he could change the world, make it more positive for him, more divine, he dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared, he did not wish to displease his great uncle, who he most certainly feared.

    Uncle Scott was large, he was robust, he was strong, and Frog King knew he wouldn’t hesitate to clip him across the face if he even breathed a word that was wrong. He claimed he was over protective of his nephew, but the truth of the matter was, he was decidedly jealous that Frog King was the King, and an uncle was all that he was. It was a terrible thought to have, to hold, that being the uncle of a wondrous being, disciplined frog was not good enough, that he was desperate for to provide him a serve, whenever he could justify this it would be done, and soon of this ultra disciplinary life Frog King wanted to run!

    As he passed the tadpole area of the pond one day, dismayed at the upcoming events of his morning he was swayed toward a cute little group of youths, blue in nature and swimming consistently in their group, now one led the others, and follow did the rest, such a delightful view. Then Frog King noticed a little damsel dressed in a vintage dress, white, and cream with brocade lace, hem down there, and corset up to there, with cascading brunette curls framing her face. She looked delightful, so charming and when she opened her mouth to speak, to greet, she sounded so insightful and enticing, she was such a living dream. They stopped and chatted for a while, apparently she did not know of his ranking in the great kingdom of his world, and this he found utterly refreshing; she knew that he was simply a beautiful moment of truth in a first place sash, they could barely contain their excitement at their immediate connection that Frog King decided to do his dash. He would not hold himself liable to the throne’s rules anymore, he would take this damsel on a date, one that he actually wanted to partake in, be on, and they would have the most glorious time and then some more. And even if Uncle Scott would not approve of his new lady friend, he did not care, he would simply glare and stare, and take the physical serve.

    But to King Frog’s great surprise, Uncle Scott was not upset at all, in fact he welcomed the damsel, named Lilac, into the family home.

    “Come wine with us, come dine with us,” he welcomed her, and with a smile, he explained why he had been so hard on Frog King all the while. It was out of complete frustration at the rules dictated to him for his nephew left by the former king in his will, that would mean Frog King was forced to marry a human princess, even though she would be inclined to perhaps make of her king into a juicy, leggy meal. The former king had been of the incorrect understanding that a Frog King’s kiss would transform a lady into a royal froggy lady to be seen and heard the pond all over, and Steve couldn’t deviate from that formal will. The former king had been  misled by words whispered by human ladies as he had passed them in the marketplace, he had believed the things they’d said.  

    As Frog King had discovered, none were transforming, not any, none of the others, and the fact the he had found an interest in this new lady friend made Uncle Scott so happy he wanted to call the world over, announcing the words to be transported upon the wind, in their clouds they would sail, there they would sing. But devious was Scott, he knew of a loophole in the will, if Frog King ended up with another native frog, Scott would reign true leader, just as he wished,his ambition would prevail. When it came to the throne or true love, months down the track, Frog King was willing, more than happy to give up his throne, for his damsel who was never, ever distressed.

    King Scott ruled over the pond with a stern nature and a forcible fist, but the animals and frogs were allowed to live rather independently, and some even wished to continue to coexist. All became regimented and well until one afternoon a human princess attacked him, grabbed forth his face, and kissed him until he became violently unwell. When he came to, he opened his eyes to sternly glare and viciously seethe, but sitting there in front him was the most beautiful of froggy things. A lady, a real stunner, her eyelids flickering at him lazily, he could barely believe his eyes, here was his new, real life Froggy Queen.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: Egbert the Excitable Echidna Soars in Leaps and Bounds – 19/08/19

    Story: Egbert the Excitable Echidna Soars in Leaps and Bounds – 19/08/19

    “Weeeee! Look at me!” called Egbert to his friends, one, two and three. He was spinning on his feet, pirouetting as elegantly as could be.

    “You go, ‘Bert!” called Lucy.

    “Yeah, keep going!” cheered Brody.

    “Why do you always have to be so showy?” groaned Danni. Danni was the moodiest of the four, she didn’t want to join in to the cheering antics at all. She didn’t like encouraging her friends, only wanted to be miserable and moan, this was the life of Danni, who didn’t want to know anyone at all. In fact, the only reason she was there in the group was because the others had taken pity on her, her internal anger often lead her to self combust, and they wanted her to learn to be friendlier and trust. But here she was, as always, breathing heavily, sighing strongly, upset that she was not being attended to, and that Egbert was the one being observed in a manner very happily and lightly. What did she expect, being morose, how could others look upon her with joy, and most of all she needed to understand, that to be approachable one needed to be open and willing to share, speak well of others, and perhaps occasionally lend a helping hand.

    “Never mind her,” Lucy muttered under her breath, and she continued calling, encouraging her friend Egbert as he performed the movements of his ballet scene’s choreography. He had been working on this for more than two months, every spare second, every spare minute, he was practicing, rehearsing energetically, his excitability calling, he would leap, prance, breathe deeply, gasp, for his ballet dancing took precedence in his world, to gain a place in the National Ballet Academy it was a dream he would work to make truth, to unfurl.

    A slight problem with Egbert was that a lot of things made him excitable, and this had a tendency to take attention away from his goal, provide many distractions, such as that ladybug he found behind his ear, he would name her Philippa, and provide her a terrarium home, or the colours painted on the wall of the alleyway, he would stop to admire them for an hour on his way from secondary school to his home, or the blades of grass, so tufty and firm, he would play with them, giggling, with his claws pressing them to and fro so firmly – he was easily distracted, and this was a problem to him. He knew how to be focused, and he tried his utmost on being like this with his choreography, his routine so well developed and fantastic, but he had to draaaaag himself away from the distracters, in order to refocus.

    It wasn’t his fault, he had been diagnosed with a condition years prior that deemed him as having problems with his attention, deficits from this, a disorder, but his mother wouldn’t provide the pharmaceutical medication as she wanted to heal him holistically. She provided him salves, natural tablets, herbs and all, to rectify the problem, and initially it proved to be useful to him, in every mental zone. His attention soared, his eyes were pin pricked focused, he could dance for hours and it wasn’t a problem.

    But then something happened, his mother lost faith in her cause, to provide him natural remedies, she simply gave up, and upped and left the mission, hiding in her bedroom hole. Word flew around the community that she was suffering from depression, but she didn’t want to be seen, looked at, viewed by anyone, not even a doctor, she just wanted to rest and sleep, then wake, repeat, sleep, again. So Egbert was left to his own devices, he treated himself the best that he could, it turned out that his best wasn’t enough, he needed to educate himself of the remedies, and do this soon. Surprisingly, his friend Danni, showed an interest in this topic, it was strange, given that she was morose about basically everything she encountered, and together they set out, procuring all research they could possibly find, dumping the literature in a corner, they sat together, and began to furiously read, through the pages they dived.

    “Hey, would you look at this?” uttered Egbert excitedly. “Look at this information, this plant, it’s a dandelion, perhaps it has a place for solving?” Then his eyes flittered to another page, darting left then right, then now to another fact!

    “Egbert!” Danni exclaimed. “We need to focus!”

    After reading solidly for three and a half hours, Egbert and Danni were far less wired, they had lost the focus they had previous harnessed, and now their eyes were becoming heavily lidded.

    “Let me fetch you a drink,” she said slyly, and with a secretive smile, Danni darted out to the kitchen, to view was on offer, what was available. Not seeing the ingredients that she would need, she quickly darted out to the Australian natives in the backyard, gently waving in the breeze. Collecting what she needed, she prepared a herbal tea, and providing it, steaming hot, to Egbert, she carefully observed him. He sipped cautiously, carefully, so as not to spill it upon himself, and tried to ignore the strange taste it had to itself. He could not stay silent, he didn’t know what this was, but whatever it was, it wasn’t making him in any way, shape or form excitable, and he wanted to know, why, because!

    “It’s a mixture I made, an antidote, a potion, from the information we’ve saved, and look now! Your eyes are focused again!” With happiness, he felt himself aligned, with everything he needed, he now wanted to dance for hours, to fly! But when he rose, he didn’t even want to try, he just wanted to focus on other things, for a while.

    “Hmmm, this is in an interesting problem, an unforseen moment, with no explanation,” Danni said, stroking her chin. “We want you focused, but we want you about your dancing excited still to be!” And with this, she consulted the yellowing pages of one book, parchment paper, as old as could be, no one need know where the pages were from, where they have been taken, now free to be viewed, and to his tea she added a sparkle from her fingers, click, with a smile, and with a final sip, Egbert was excitable and focused, for all the while! Now with this antidote, his condition was controlled, he needed not pharmaceuticals, or the missing natural remedies his mother used to make for him when he was younger, and now that he was old, and wiser, and with Danni’s assistance, she guided him, medicated him, and their friendship became firmer and more consistent.

    They saw each other more often than usual, they spent time together in his breaks from dancing in the stairwell at school, they confided in one another, and wouldn’t you believe it? Danni was miserable only with a group of others, but one on one she was confident, friendly and all knowing. She simply had had secret issues with being bullied in primary school, that she didn’t like being around more than one person at all. And now that both their problems, for Egbert and Danni were addressed and out in the open, they had the freedom to pursue their dreams.

    Egbert obtained the place he most desperately wanted in the National Ballet Academy, in his audition he danced through the air, flitted so freely. No one could have believed that an echidna would careen so eloquently, and he had everything to prove to the panel members that his skill was there, beamingly, to be seen. Danni buckled down, and began studying incredibly hard, at understanding the principals of using vitamins and herbs, and other natural products, and she realised that she had a great passion for pursuing and researching these things.

    She set her sights on becoming a natural doctor, she accomplished her dream of obtaining a place in a naturopathic college, and for the next three years she studied heavily. By the time the three years were up, Danni graduated with honours, presenting her thesis to the honoured animals and natural healers of the outback, and Egbert was known of by all, a household name, an elegant creature in the Natural World Ballet. Their other two friends had fallen by the wayside when Danni and Egbert had decided to knuckle down and become more studious, although still successful in their own right, their friendship group was no longer in sight. Danni and Egbert are married now, three kids with great minds, they live together, a natural healer and a ballet dancer who was more of an excitable flier, and of their lives, none in the outback can compare. All of this began from being a little more excitable than the others, and a female echidna who decided to try, to dare.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: When The Wind Changes – 18/08/19

    Story: When The Wind Changes – 18/08/19

    Nana playfully grabbed my nose as I made a cheeky face.

    “You know, Alice, if you continue doing this, your face will stay the same when the wind will change!”

    “Nonsense,” I replied emphatically. “That is nothing of the truth. I’ve made faces for years now, and there is nothing to show that what you say is proof.” Nana shrugged now, with a wise expression in her eyes. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you’ll figure it out deep inside.” And returning to making her home made cabbage rolls did she, smiling to herself, occasionally grinning freely.

    Nana was a trickster, she was hilarious and loved to prank. She gave me a mouse for my fifth birthday, presented in a box apparently procured from our local bank. I had been so excited, thinking I was set to receive a money box filled with coins, notes, and other treats, but open the box, and jumped out, what did I see? My future pet, Charles, in all his beautiful glistening capacity. I’ve had Charles for two years now, according to my morose brother Sturt he has not long left to live, the end of his life is not far off, soon he will go. When Sturt says such things, I scold him and make a prolonged mean face, I poke my tongue out, bulge my eyes, and wait until he does say, “Stop that, Sis, you scare me so!” and then upturned my mouth becomes, I have achieved my goal. Off I would trot to achieve another task, off to another task I would run.

    I’d heard from others that when the wind changed your altered facial expression could stay the same, but I did not believe it, I welcomed the common sense telling me otherwise, the rationale in my mind, my intelligent brain. For why should I, would I, believe that some occurrence such as this was possible, I’d never seen or heard of anyone else who’d been frozen. This notion was surely impossible!

    My favourite face was poking out my little tongue, like a clever happy gecko on his morning run, and then crossed my eyes as tightly as I could, I’d walk around the school yard and playground, bumping into things and people, feeling as happy as I could. It gave me great joy to be silly, and Nana, my darling Nanni, was surely only tricking, this was my understanding.

    But then one day, I was pulling a grotesque face, mouth twisted into a snarling opening, eyes rolling here and there, searching for something, and then a gust of wind blew from behind me, near pushing me forward into a nearby tree, and it felt so beautiful, wonderful, that gust, that I went to laugh with great delight and glee. But there was a problem, I couldn’t move my face! It was as though I was frozen here upon an expression in a book, a certain page. I tried to mould my face smoother with my hands, wipe out the wrinkles that came with scrunching my face upon command, but nothing! Not even my eyes could stop rolling and searching, there was nothing I could do, despite me considering everything. Hopeless, hopeless, I felt, I wished I had listened to Nan, my dear loving Nana who was trying to obviously help the best that she could, and with her words floating in my mind, I travelled back to my home, to hide from the world, forevermore I would, never resurfacing ever, not even from time to time.

    I stared into my reflection in the mirror. I was an abhorrent sight. I was grotesque, horrid, how had I allowed myself to permit this to occur, simply because I believed Nana’s words warranted no truths, and arrogantly I had pushed them aside. I pulled out book after book, frantically searching for an antidote, a reversal to my truth, and suddenly, after three hours of perusing, I knew what I could do. Apparently I needed to reverse the occurrence by wishing for something the opposite of abhorrence, something filled with beauty and that I could present with utter assurance, then entering a dream-state of mine, I became in the right frame of mind to be sure of this. I closed my rolling, now paining eyes, and heavily focussed on what I wanted to happen, the expression that I wanted to come undone, and thinking of Nana’s smiling face, I proceeded to let the process happen, a wishing, wishing from afar. I pulled out my electric fan and began to let it run, an artificial breeze, the air produced was a replacement for the natural breeze that made me look like this. I muttered special words under my breath, I chanted for change to occur, making these words, wishes,  stronger and stronger until I could believe, and then suddenly my face slackened, and I felt myself become me once more, with a great sigh of relief, I exhaustedly threw myself to the floor. One look in the mirror confirmed my delighted truth, I had returned to myself, my face was presented its usual view.

    These days I listen to Nana’s advice now, no matter whether she playfully or seriously presents it forth to me, for she is much older, and far wiser, than I could at this age hope to be. I still poke my tongue out at her, don’t get me wrong, I haven’t ceased being a child, but I only perform my expressions for a second, I don’t allow them to remain long enough for a change in the wind or clouds. I have learned my lesson from the frightening event that had occurred, and as with all lessons in life, they needed to be appreciated as worthy moments, and in my memory the feelings and event are stored. I’ll be as wise as my Nan one day, and I’ll hopefully show my grandkids the way, but until then, I need just be myself, and listen to wise advice provided from trusted others, and nobody else.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: My Talented Dancing Cat-Roo, Solly – 16/08/19

    Story: My Talented Dancing Cat-Roo, Solly – 16/08/19

    My cat Solly is one unique girl. She can stand on her haunches, and dance in a twirl. She can boogie each step, along to the beat, she has every dance move within her belt, twinkle toes, paws and feet. Within her skilled capacity, translated through her talented feet, for Solly’s hind legs were more human-like, longer and wider, allowing the ability to walk easier, heavier and lighter, as I speak. She was able to creep upon tippie toe, she was able to thump, thump, thump, wherever she had decided to go, and then prance and prance and twirl, one step, two step, three step, four, she began a group dance upon the outback’s grassy floor. I giggled to myself, at viewing her antics, she was so clever, her personality so bright and fantastic, how lucky I was to have found her, when I went pet shopping on a whim, this wonderful combination of cat and kangaroo, of whom everyone in the neighbourhood did speak.

    For Solly was a popular girl, she taught dance class to the other animals and creatures, boys and girls, it did not matter which breed or animal they might be, she always adapted the dance moves to suit the others’ dance skills and capacities.

    “Pump it, pump it!” she urged them, encouragingly. From the front of the class, she observed her groups of twos and threes, all up today she had eighteen in attendance: a mixture of a family of duckies, rodents, raccoons, a single unicorn, and a giraffe and an elephant. The elephant was the most uncoordinated of the group, he kept stepping on and over his large dance shoes. So embarrassed was he that he decided to cease, he thumped upon his bottom and dragged the shoes from his feet. The shining unicorn noticed his turmoil, and crept over, threw a hoof over the Elephant’s shoulder and I quote this: “It’s hard, I know, but you can do it, I’ll show you how!” And with that, a little flint of trust shone in Elephant’s eyes, small, yet there, almost clouding his need to weep, uproariously cry. He pressed his feet back into his shoes, and allowed himself to be led by caring Unicorn, back to the groups. And although Elephant had the equivalent of four left feet, or so it seemed, Unicorn was patient, and allowed him to chase his inner dream, of being a beautiful ballet dancer, flying, sailing through the air, but first he needed to get his 1, 2, 3, 4’s correct, before he could even think of beginning to soar.

    My cat-roo Solly noticed Unicorn’s attention on Steve the Elephant, and loved how caring she was, even though she had not been asked to assist, undirected to Steve, no purpose given or meant, and it was Unicorn’s great kindness that touched Solly’s heart, and pushed her into thinking that she should take Unicorn on as a dancing teacher counterpart. So quietly she made her way over, and requested permission for her assistance, Unicorn was jubilant, so surprised, she could hardly believe the luck she had been sent! Unicorn had always dreamed of being a teacher, just unsure of which teaching discipline to chase in future studies, and now being presented to her was an opportunity of great magnitude and self-discovery!

    Happy together, working together, sharing thoughts and learning from each other, the dance school grew larger and larger until she needed room to fit Elephant’s entire family, who came every session, hearts filled with ardour. Word had spread like wildfire of Solly and Unicorn’s talented capacities, and parents flocked with their children and other next of kin, to view this, witness this, this world renowned school to be experienced and seen. They became so well known that they were looked upon as the number one school of the dancing world, and how wonderful was this for my cat-roo who only used to purr, slink and meow.

    And how so very proud I am of Solly, my little cat-‘roo, each night I thank her with a lullaby and soliloquy until she dozes gently, then travels to her dreams gentler soon. All such beauty my dear pet has created, without a finger lifted from me. Why, all I have to do is view the worldly nature and professional power of her and her partner’s work together with ease. What a proud happy owner, am I, my heart will never cease to feel so proud and utterly free.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: The Redemption of Lucy the Unaware Rodeo Bull Rider – 16/08/19

    Story: The Redemption of Lucy the Unaware Rodeo Bull Rider – 16/08/19

    Lucy was known as a great bucking bull rider.

    Lucy was viewed as a mighty talented girl. She rode bucking, raging bulls with the utmost of grace and style. She had practiced upon a robot bull for many years, beating all the participants from the crowd with the greatest of ease. Only once did she fall, at the beginning of her training, but she quickly corrected her error, she no longer needed help rising from the floor, her embarrassment soon unheard of, she was skilled in her own future saving. Her sense of balance startled the world and caused others to be extremely enthralled, and so too caused a paling to the complexion of her competitors, in a bloodless manner that was remarkably draining for all.

    On December the 16th, 2015, it was the World Bull Rodeo Championship. Although ranked the very best, her nerves were getting the better of her; she didn’t wish to demonstrate skills poorly, to be viewed of as something less when she knew she was more. Because, this bucking bull had a mean reputation, he would buck and thrash at every occasion, his efforts were worth gold, and the viewer would be terrified for the riders, the perils were so visually told, the dangers mortally magnified beyond any sense of redemption for young and old.

    Lucy the Rodeo star crept into the stadium, into the bare field, and mounted the held bucking bull whose patience had long worn thin the older he had grown, for these events that he was made to participate in, made his blood boil and his anger run hotter, he wished for nothing more than to attack, attack, the arrogant, selfish riders. Because no one ever considered the feelings of the poor bucking bull, how he felt, how he liked or disliked being roughly ridden so, it was all about the rider, showcasing their cruel power, and amusement borne of the abuse of the raging bull who, in the foreseeable future, was probably next in line to be someone’s dinner. This bucking bull wouldn’t allow this rider to get away. Not now, not ever, not even on this special day.

    Toss and turn did Lucy this day, thrash and unfortunately thrown from the bucking bull’s back and gashed in the side, felled by the bull’s sharpened left horn, the pain was tremendous, felt as though it would forever remain, never be gone. And now medics rushed onto the ground for Lucy to be saved, from being further gouged and trampled on a day that was meant to be hers, labelled a winner and champion always.

    In hospital she sat upright in bed, contemplative, thoughts wandering inside her head, as to how to grasp the notion of the sport which she had been involving in for many years. She now was trying understand the game from the viewpoint of the bulls, to get inside their heads, and assess how they felt about being used as animals for cruel entertainment by humans who really possessed no sense of consideration, only wanting to abuse and misuse.

    Why would an animal enjoy being riled, upset beyond their means for undertaking a forced riding to be seen? Being forced to want to throw off an unwanted being, stuck upon their backs, for as long as could be? How utterly insulting, how cruel, how unfair, to possess these great majestic creatures, fierce beasts, without a second’s thought for their mental care. Surely upsetting a bucking bull too many times could result in a type of insanity, then, oh look, who was now on the plate for dinner or lunch? Or simply rid of, now useless, the rider now happily joyous, oblivious, having won, proud as punch?

    At that very moment, Lucy decided to retire, from this cruel sport that she realised was no longer for her. And the moment she made this decision, she felt stressors release from her, what a breather, and mental pain and anguish which she hadn’t known existed simply flitted away as though in a breeze.

    Once having left the hospital, all healed, her side with a large scarred reminder of what it meant to take on a bull who was of a strength, to beat, almost too impossible, she set up a fund called “Save the Captured Bucking Bulls At Last”, and felt it was created not a minute too soon. She advocated for their freedom, a life of far less sorrows and great irritations, and when asked if she understood she was being a hypocrite, she laughed, waved these critics off, and said, “You really are lost in your dreams.” For she was the one making the difference, rectifying the flaws, the former errors in her life, and so she rose so very high, taking on the world with her charitable, proactive style. So many bucking bulls did she free from a life of turmoil and forced mental disease, they were now sent to pasture, to live so freely.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: A Hungry Little Mouse – 15/08/19

    There was enough to feed three, two times around!

    Open my eyes and what did I see? A glorious chunk of cheese hanging from a line, staring right back at me! I could not believe my luck, upon discovering this find, for I had been participating in a game of Mice: Three Blind. This involved myself and my two brothers wandering around the forest and its deserted road, with eyes firmly shut, only words could we form and to be told that this type of game was very dangerous, lest we walk into trees and animals looking for us to eat, above and beneath the forests’ surface. But this was exactly what I was looking for, not some victory in a silly childish game, where we would win by calling out repeatedly and determining one’s distance from another, essentially repetitively calling out the others’ names. I was too old for this, I was always hungry anyway, and discovering this jackpot of a prize would allow me much delight, I planned to disguise it and be on my way. Then I could eat it however I wished: raw, sliced, fried, filleted, diced, and such delight I would garner from this, my unexpected prize.

    I admit I had cheated, by opening my eyes, but I could not help it, my nose had sniffed strongly, detected a tasty treat so wholly. And with a quick peek then a startled wide eyed awakening, I had realised that the cheese surely needed saving! I mean, who allows cheese to hang from a string? It is rather macabre, a sight to be viewed in a Hollywood Halloween film. The death of a cheese from hanging from a noose, how horrid a sight, I must assist it, of this image it must be vamoosed. And delicately, though with great excitement, I did attempt to disentangle, my prize winning portion, of the black type vintage, but the technique required me to be faster, much more nimble. Although, in doing so, I could risk breaking my portion apart, spreading upon the ground in dirty inedible chunks, this would not be right, I would not allow it so, I quickly and succinctly broke the string into fraying pieces, and now the cheese was upon my hands, not broken on the ground.

    With utter glory, I placed one corner into my mouth, it tasted wonderful, I allowed a chunk down south. And another little nibble, and then there were three – “Brother, brother, what have you found us??” a sibling called out to me with glee. I groaned inwardly, exhaled loudly, visibly, “How could you sneak up on me when you weren’t calling me, and when you were not meant to see?” My brother Hank shrugged, and Bert to the right of him smiled for a while, and said, “Wherever you are, we will always sneakily be.”

    My two brothers explained how they’d initially discovered the cheese chunk, but uncertain were they of removing it without damaging it, this motion they had not been able to ascertain, to allow the cheese’s shape to last. So, they hid around the corner, waited for me to stumble upon the scene, and watch carefully as I would dismantle their current edible dream. I thought it ridiculous that they had assumed that there was a high chance I would stumble upon them so soon. But then the truth of the matter is that I did in fact arrive, despite the jungle and deserted road being so large, and of my brothers usually being extremely difficult for me to discover whilst they would hide.

    So, reluctantly, I decided to share with my lunch and cheese dinner, it was large enough of a portion for us to enjoy as three lunches and dinners. However the question remains as to who left this portion of food, hanging upon a tree for us as though a trap, though with nothing to capture us, how strange was this fact? Perhaps it was another kind animal who knew that of our game Mice: Three Blind that we played often throughout our day, that he or she provided a little cheeky sneaky treat for us to all enjoy. Maybe one day the provider will show his or her face, and together we can dance around a wheel of cheese, celebratory, a great prance for the day.

    © Alice Well Art. Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. 2019. All rights reserved. 

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  • Story: The Most Unique Little Fruitcake You Ever Did Meet – 15/08/19

    Story: The Most Unique Little Fruitcake You Ever Did Meet – 15/08/19

    There was a little fruitcake, who was as fruity and unique as could be. He loved to perform amusing antics, such as jumping high then falling upon splayed feet. Another of his tricks was standing on his head, while barking and picking away at the fruitiness that was inside his form, in order to self taste test. His fruit was very tasty, having been soaked in liquor prior to his baking, the content made him a little inebriated and rather distractedly happy and loopy.

    Fruitcake loved to pop his happy pills, he would carry them wherever he would go, these were filled with corn starch and maize, but also alcohol and sugar, to taste. The combination of the ingredients of these pills made Fruitcake go, “WOW!”, his energy would rise, and his fruitiness would grow. He didn’t need these pills but they aided his cause, to be happier and happier, and fruitier because, that was the point, wasn’t it, to be unique and eccentric, different from the others, so utterly fantastic. He wanted to ensure that if ever anyone had a taste, of him they would cherish his decadence, that this would not go to waste.

    But what of Fruitcake’s mindset, was he of soundness or unbalanced? Did the liquor within him make him a danger to the lot of us, to the residents of town, to the lot of them? Was he a hazard, was he a danger, and was he a harm, should others keep him at a distance, away at the length of an arm? What you need to understand was that he was a slight danger, not to others, but himself, because he was simply of a slightly strange nature. His hyper energy caused people to get going, they would see him striding forth with purpose, then pacing, his energy racing. He needed to get things done as fast as he could, he understood that this was an important point and thing to perform and do.

    Then came the rush of thoughts, this was what happened when he slammed his personal thought door, the area in which he subsisted daily, his thoughts he captured in a small area, then flailing, he would bask in his convoluted thoughts within his mind, swimming in the glory of them, outlandish and grandiose were they of this kind. And then the rapid bundling of words, flying, word vomit, out of his mouth, sometimes he was barely able to catch them, they escaped from his lips, tongue, mouth. He could not stop being verbose, he was always over expressive, in the past, perhaps he was more curt, but this manic slew of words could be oppressive.  

    Then with the excessive highs, aided by his overdosing of happy pills, came the irritation that aligned, with the rise and the falls, and the rise. For with every excessive rollercoaster of emotion Fruitcake experienced, the fruitiness inside him grew and danced. He knew that the irritation would slowly erase, when he caught up on the sleep that he had been direly missing. That was part of the rise, he would lose patience as well as sleep, but the benefits of being fruity meant he could always join in a festively spirited world.

    As an opposing mood, Fruitcake occasionally experienced deep sorrow, in which he would pick at his fruit and eat it with sorrow for days, nights, and tomorrows. It was simply the consequence of overindulging and having his moods so high, Fruitcake knew that when he reached this state, he would remain there for a while. Fruitcake loved how his moods would flit here, and flit there, it was all part of his charm, and of others’ opinions he did not care. He was happy to bounce from one polar end to the opposite, even it meant that the lower times were not so abounding.

    One evening, I believe it was Christmas, Fruitcake was designing, in his own mind, his perfect missus. Rather than focusing on her physical traits, he was designing her from the inside, with her personality traits, to be perfect toward him, to be able to handle his ever changing moods, there to comfort and see. But then Fruitcake decided to stop for a while and indulge in some of his fruitiness within him, and some pills for tea. He was extremely looking forward to this combination; it always served him well, and provided positive brain connections. The pills, along with the fruit were comprised of a dangerous dose, but Fruitcake knew what he was doing, he had performed this often, rightly, he believed, and just so. And pick and pick at his fruit did he, and swallow eight crushed happy pills, this was his delightful tea, and relaxing back into bed now, he understood the next few hours would be a desirous dream, he closed his eyes and of his perfect little cake he thought of, knowing that whatever he believed, most real it would seem.

    Poor Fruitcake felt he was sinking in the middle of the night, his consciousness falling, falling, his grip on reality gone, he was gasping, for freedom of the heavy weight now bearing upon his mind, he felt he was slipping and slipping, and if he let go he would quite possibly die. He had never experienced anything like this before, the waking with a gasp and feeling of a sinking, like an elephant was sitting on his mind, to be sure, to crush any option of the rise, and powerless to fight off its dead weight, he fell deeper and deeper into his unconsciousness, until it was simply too late.

    Or so it seemed, for Fruitcake would live another day, just not that day being too soon, for he was discovered by his roommate, roused for over sleeping, and then with horror, she realised what Fruitcake must have done. With a deep sharp intake of breath, she, shocked, called triple zero, to fetch Fruitcake and rectify what he had done, she hadn’t known that he was so depressed that of this life he wanted to go.

    In the emergency department, Fruitcake awoke confused, why was he in a strange bed in a purposefully whitened, glaringly brightened room, guarded by a burly looking member of security? With his arms folded tightly around his barrel chest, he looked down upon Fruitcake with a mixture of curiousity, and a feeling of “ What is that?”

    “Awake, now?” he said gruffly. 
    “Where am I?” Fruitcake asked, “Am I in hospital?” The guard nodded, then seemingly switched off.

    “But why?” he pressed.

    “Your overdosing may have earned you a place in the inpatient mental health ward,” he replied. “You’re waiting to be assessed by the doctor now.”

    “But, BUT!” he said, a feeling of flailing filling his soul, he hadn’t overdosed, he was simply making his evening meal, he did not wish to be locked up, he couldn’t then do as he pleased, they would take away his freedom, and label him with a mental health condition with great ease.

    When the doctor came, he took away any chance for him to express his truths, twisting his answers into those of someone unwell, of a nature that capitalised upon his thoughts of him being extremely unwell.

    “I’m fine,” Fruitcake insisted. “There is nothing wrong with me!”

    “I beg to differ,” the doctor stated. “From speaking with you, you possess grand delusions, suicidal ideas, and racing thoughts, all under the umbrella of Tricolour Three.” Fruitcake didn’t even know what Tricolour One was, let alone three. But what he did know is that he didn’t fit under any category such as this. He was simply himself, although often inebriated and skittish, he was not depressed, nor wanting to be comatose, he just wished for nice meals of his happy pills and dried fruit treats. Was that so much to ask for, to be himself, and not be labelled with something that surely wasn’t even real? These doctors, making up conditions, why were there even three versions of the illness to be seen? It made no sense, he wished this was just a terribly horrid dream.

    For four and half weeks Fruitcake was in the ward. He always protested that he wasn’t unwell, that they could see it, this was his cause! To highlight to them his completely normal, not abnormal behaviour, yet they kept him there, as long as they could, claiming he needed much help from them. The help basically consisted of being assessed daily by his doctor, and being fed tablets morning and evening, not his happy pill favourites, of course, he’d tried to sneak them in but was caught, oh, what a blunder. Then the sociable activities such as the patients all eating together, and performing daily walks or other activities, perhaps to get them to focus not on themselves, but a holistic approach of healing oneself and all others. Then came discharge date, he was allowed, released, with his bag of chemist goodies to take. His four types of medication that he was now required to swallow, he detested them, they made him heavier and slower, but he was required to conform, to the mental health act, it was so.

    Still remaining in the system of community mental health to this day, Fruitcake knows not to take risks with his mental health and avoids eating his liquor soaked fruit and happy pills popped once frequently throughout the day. With his current medication, he is more focussed now, his moods less erratic, and his depression he now no longer knew of, it is essentially unknown of, not catastrophic. All of his characteristics which he had always thought of as being part of his personality were now firmly controlled, with the assistance of his medication and the mental health system in all its capacity. He could now be in command of himself, no need was there for racing thoughts, he was still the Fruitiest Fruit Cake there was, but reigned in were his temperamental moods and thoughts.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: The Zombie’s Bride – 14/08/19

    Story: The Zombie’s Bride – 14/08/19

    She was resplendent in her green haired glamour.

    They had met through a pen pal service, known as Lovers World Wide, Ply Ltd. Daniella was an alternative sort of a girl, with green hair and a purposeful pasty complexion, normally she was slightly tanned, but she disliked being so, as she attracted the attentions of a nearby unwanted man. This man was Darcy, from down the road, nearby he lived and obsessed was he with the colours green and brown. For some strange reason, they switched a light on inside of him, somehow, thus Daniella painted her face with much lighter foundation to avoid being visibly attractive beneath Darcy’s stellar eyes and his prying nose. With her foundation on, she was obscured from the sight of this creepy, obsessive man.

    Back to her current love affair, we find ourselves watching as Daniella is in great command of operating her calligraphy pen, the object of which she constructed her love letters to the current man, and former pen pal men. At one point, she had been corresponding with three in one go: Julius, Joseph, and Jason, the three J’s she called them, but now she had reduced them all to nothing, having found a man of her life-long calling. This man was sweet, kind, clever, unexpected, provided her laughs and made her feel so very alive. His name was Bernard, and he was the most epic being that she had ever had the chance of viewing, the man who she wanted continually of her to be perpetually pursuing.

    Even though they had been dating through the mail for the past four months, he still sent her special bundles of gifts, and bunches of flowers, to simply let her know that his love would always last. In turn she sent drawings and pictures of herself pouting and smiling, other expressions, in various poses, it seemed a fair trade off, and as love cultivates, how love grows, it happens.

    Bernard was extremely attractive, he had a curled moustache of which he tamed the ends with pomade, he had a lovely haircut from an expensive barber, with a subtle fade, and every month he returned to have it maintained. His sparkling crystalline blue eyes caught the sight of everyone else’s, and locked and loaded would the connection grow, if talented and charismatic Bernard allowed it.

    For what, or who, Bernard was, was something interesting, something from afar, he possessed the skill to manipulate thought, to draw others near, closer, from far. And while they would be just within his grasp, he would grab them, hold them tightly within his grip, and then suddenly attack, in a manner so matter a fact, for he was a secret zombie, and he rarely revealed this fact. Because, Bernard was a zombie-human hybrid, he did not need to feast upon humans for substance, as his food, it was only when he was lacking energy, feeling less lively, that he pretended to attack them after meeting a ‘victim’ so soon.

    Daniella knew of her pen pal lover’s heritage, as we shall call it. That his mother was the zombie, and his father was a man who had fallen for her charms and processes. His father was an incredibly brave individual for deciding to pursue a zombie, but he was bold, he was clever, and he knew how to win a strong woman over. And with time, his future wife had begun to trust him, with each intimate word that he did speak she allowed him a closer distance, and a year after their marriage Bernard was born, their immense joy and ecstatic feelings did ultimately grow.

    So this time the tables had turned, Bernard was the zombie man, he knew he had won over Daniella and obtained her trust, cementing it again and again, and he knew that she and he to one another would be loyal, of their love they would forever be filled with strength and truth, the only thing left in the process was would be to meet at the altar, this would be their final relationship proof.

    Daniella had always been one to throw caution to the wind, and so too did Bernard feel that this could be, for him it would reflect the spontaneous method in which he lived, he knew more about Daniella than most who were in her circle of friends and family – it was as though together they had already joined and lived. As Daniella walked down toward the altar, her green hair styled nicely, her skin complexion now free of makeup, free to breathe, her hands clasped around a bouquet of a fake human brain, a little clever joke between her and her man.

    Bernard turned and his eyes lit up with such emotion, here was his cleverpot, his ecstatic dream, his wonderful life explosion. The woman he wanted to live with forevermore, who had accepted him even though inside he felt a slight failure and mediocre, she wanted something from him, only love, and this made his heart swell more and more. She was beautiful, she knew his truths, she understood that sometimes he had to attack slightly, but this was a cover too. It was not even a true attack, when he held himself off, after the fact, and now, his mind became swimmingly buoyant as they locked eyes together. He could barely wait as he clasped her hands at the altar, the feeling of finally touching her, oh, how sweet, and how it made him suffer, for they had held off meeting for so very long, that it seemed a punishment of sorts to be touching her soft skin finally, he wanted more and more.

    And wed were they, hybrid zombie and woman that day, life for them turned out grand, even if the town discovered Bernard’s secret – as he had moved in with her – but of this, they did not give a damn. Then three little children had they with zombie lineage, zombie blood, and intermingle with the other children of the town in its hub.

    Then to their surprise, others revealed that they too possessed zombie traits, apparently this was not uncommon, but it had been hidden for many generations, years, thousands of days. There was actually nothing to be embarrassed about, because the genetics meant that when mixed with certain human blood types the aggression of zombies would go, be gone, without, and left was simply a differential type of gene, something that slowly the world all over was experiencing and seeing.

    So in peace their family lived, with their little cherub children, perfection in the moment of their sharing of their life dreams. Bernard and Daniella, how beautiful they were with their three, their family of five, grateful for their differences, and happily being free and alive.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

                                     

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  • Story: Sammi the Beautiful Girl With Two Missing Teeth – 14/08/19

    Story: Sammi the Beautiful Girl With Two Missing Teeth – 14/08/19

    Sammi was a beautiful girl, inside and out. Her hair and skin glowed, shone throughout. Her effervescent personality made others joyous and gay, she was a bubbly, vivacious girl, and she loved to make others happy and keep them entertained. However, Sammi had a personal nightmare, it was evident when she grinned, she always hid behind her open hand, because missing were her two of her teeth. She was ashamed to grin like the other children, to show her remaining pearly whites to the world, she was always told that beauty came from within, but within her mouth was where her exterior beauty ended, she believed, it was the torment of her inner world. She was scared of being judged, frightened of being viewed of as uncool, she knew she had beautiful characteristics and traits, but she wished her teeth had never been taken so soon.

    That moment when she had toppled, so happily hanging from the monkey bars, when her teeth made impact with her shins, despite this being in the past, the memories of the pain, as they hit against each other, the ‘crack’ heard inside her brain, made her wish she had not been so careless. If she’d fallen slightly differently, the dentist had said, her teeth could have been saved, instead she was left with unsightly gaps, and pain within her that was always there, within her memories never going away. Instead they had shattered, unable to be retrieved, her baby teeth gone, never to be again seen. And cry and cry all that day, and into the next did she, poor little Sammi, her beauty compromised, her dream of being a beauty queen seemingly gone, her sorrow spread quite freely. And the times when she accidentally burst into a giggle or a guffaw, and unintentionally she showed her teeth, she became chilli red and frightfully embarrassed, for, she wanted nothing more than to hide in her bed, trying to ward off her fiercely warm complexion as though it were a contagious disease about her face, her head.   

    For now, Sammi’s dreams of being on show, walking down the runway with teenage model beauties from all over the world were scrapped now, her dreams once a whirlwind, an utter whirl, were now apparently unattainable for this unfortunate little girl. She had planned to grow into the industry, continuing her weekend beauty shows, but now, her best friend Susan scorned her, saying she was no longer the best in show.

    “I’m telling you the truth, now,” she said firmly, “Not wanting to hurt you one bit, but those gaps in your mouth, they should be covered or filled, fix them with false teeth.” Her heart fell the most heavily at Susan’s sharpened words, for she was the closest friend in Sammi’s world, she could not understand why she was being such a nasty girl, was she suddenly cruel, no longer caring, had she fallen under a strange spell? Surely she understood that Sammi could smile without her teeth being shown wide, she could walk the runway and wave with delicateness, with glamorous pride, and there was no need for anyone to know that she was missing her teeth, she would train her mouth to disguise the apparent flaws, this uniqueness that she held within.

    “I will still enter Miss Terrific Teenage World,” she vowed, from the age of still a little girl. “I will take on all the beauties, I will experience all there is to be seen and told.” And at that, she felt confident, that she could do this, despite her insecurities, despite her feelings that she was inadequate for simply missing two teeth. Although her mother and father had reassured her that her teeth would grow back, Sammi was dubious, their assertion did not seem a fact. She was certain that the two specific teeth she had lost were adult teeth, not baby ones, and that the dentist had simply gotten his facts wrong, and that of dentistry he possibly had much more to learn. After all, she had to prepare herself for the truth, that if she was not receiving any replacement teeth, she would perform the most, her utmost, at adaption; this was what she would do. And practised in the mirror, smiling and talking, while surreptitiously disguising her pearly whites at every minute free of her day and night, finally she gained great skill at deception, so she would not give even the most unsuspecting passerby a sudden fright.

    As she grew, the time for Miss Terrific Teenage World finally arrived. She was flown to New Mexico, where all the other contestants were nervously biting their nails, drinking sugar free caffeine drinks, and others were with bright eyes, running on adrenaline, utterly alive. By this stage of her youth, Sammi had the art of speaking eloquently and with deception of her missing teeth down to a fine art, no one could tell, no one even knew, that she was different from the start. All they saw was her lovely face, her styled dress, her flamboyant nails and hair – the dress selected was a bit risque, but with the finery detailed upon the jewelled strapless garment to match her glittery, bejewelled necklace, she felt both at peace and excited beyond belief, she understood that her message to be shared with the world was heaven sent.

    And when it came time for her to address the world, in the capacity that she knew of so well, she spoke of freedom, and false alliances to be broken, and strength in numbers, and holding self worth and confidence, that when she was greeted by an almighty audience cheer, a standing ovation far and near, she burst into a widened grin, no longer uncertain that she should hide herself anymore, she knew to shine from the outside and within. She wept tears of happiness when she was awarded first prize, the first teenage beauty to win with a couple of teeth missing beneath her rosy cheeks, beneath her expressive eyes. It didn’t matter whether they were there or not, for the truth be finally told, she was an amazing individual, whose stunted adult teeth would finally, eventually, in one single year, grow.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story: The Sociable Sleeve – 11/08/19

    Story: The Sociable Sleeve – 11/08/19

    Most sleeves were used for surreptitious snot wiping. But not this Sleeve! He wished to be conversant all the time, wherever he might be! He’d talk and talk, to whoever was within his realm, he would chat, chat for hours, until he felt his words were finished, and that to be silent the time was rightly so. When his wearer, dear Amelia, moved her hand to press a section on her smart phone, clever, cheeky Sleeve would carry his weight upon another button, to cause a video time call! And this happened frequently, how embarrassed Amelia felt, for she had to explain the calls to her friends and family, her breath was often now misused, not well spent at all.

    “Naughty Sleeve!” she would chide him. “Naughty you are, indeed.” With irritation, she pulled Sleeve upward her arm, and left him perched around her bicep, there was no freedom for him, nowhere to run. He simply had to remain, inanimate, unable to commence a sneaky call, where he could have conversed with whoever might answer, and now, it was as though he was facing a brick wall.

    Sleeve felt deflated with his disuse, he felt utterly saddened, mourning his former life, he no longer felt alive. Why was Amelia so cruel, when freedom she could have continued to allow him, to better his grasp of English and conversational skills, too? For, Sleeve was not a native English speaker, he had grown up in the land of One Another, where sleeves and pant legs, and collars could hide, in plain sight and daylight their wearers and owners were not there to of their lives decide. They could do as they wished – for example, one pant leg loved to fish – and pursue all their talents and passions would they, they could do it for hours, upon years, upon days. No intervention like Amelia’s was allowed, and Sociable Sleeve was able to do as he well pleased within this country and his town.

    There had come a point in Sleeve’s earlier years where his parents unfortunately decided to separate, he was mournful, he was thunderous, he felt the anger between his eyes. An overwhelming pressure within, a headache growing deeper and more paining still, he had lost his familial structure, and now, broken and shattered among the community they would be seen.

    “Darling, we have to tell you something,” his father said carefully. “Your mother and I, and you, will be leaving this land of One Another, to pursue new dreams. Your mother and I have separate dreams, and you need to choose who you will live with for the majority of time.” A tear escaped Sleeve’s eye, this was a great disaster, or so it seemed. He could not readily choose between one or the other, so he threw himself upon the sofa and began to cry, with his tears rapidly falling, and nose dripping then streaming, he wiped himself clean with a section of his pressed and ironed styling. He decided to make it on his own upon Mother Earth, a land far, far away, and when he had successfully procured a kind owner and built a life with them, return to his parents part time would he, there he would partially stay.

    So upon arriving to Earth, he had of course found Amelia, who had presented herself as an initially pretty little picture. Full of kindness and warmth, but wasn’t this truly a farce, she simply wanted Sleeve to wear and to her school friends show off. For Sleeve was beautiful, intricate, sewn with golden thread. She didn’t realise she’d look odd with only one sleeve on, rather than two instead. Some people failed to think.

    And now that Sleeve is wrapped around her upper arm, now useless, immobile, of nothing positive here could he learn, in this position he was of inaction, a negative, a contraction, sadness welled around his eyes as he soaked in the reality of no more forced or welcomed interactions. Poor Sleeve, he did not know what do. Poor Sleeve, how can we assist him, what shall will we do? We simply must wait until Amelia becomes cold again, and pulls him back down her arm, to be used again, as a warmth provider or as a nose rag factor, unappreciated for his conversational charm. Although chat to himself would he, this charming Sociable Sleeve, until a fresh opportunity arises, to connect with a video through Amelia’s devices. He awaited the chance for this with excitement and baited breath.

    One day to the right individual, the right sleeve, he would connect. He would find his match through an accidental connection, shared lifetimes forged with the beauty of their breaths. His perfect sleeve mate, a soul match, a shared, startled then amazed moment, the reflected look in their eyes would scream of internal soul knowledge, changing their worlds as they’d currently known them.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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