What is this? A knife. Suppose it could be useful.
What's going on? A talking cat? What's that? I can't kill you? Why not? Let me get out my knife. Down goes the kitty cat.
What now? A mushroom? It smells good. Let me eat it. Oh goodness, I'm normal sized again.
Killing things. Down goes a caterpillar. A Duchess. A rather large playing card. All killed. Bye-bye. Knife leaves red trail on ground.
Bunny. Throws me in cage. Wanted fugitive. The words swirl around me. What is going on? I didn't kill these many things, did I?
I lick the blood on my knife.
It fills me.
A queen comes. She yells something. Apparently I am to be beheaded by tomorrow. Everyone leaves. The cat comes. The one I killed. Apparently he was right and cannot be killed.
I don't want to go amongst mad people. But I must be mad. I must be. I must I mustimustimustimustijdjjfl
The following lines were from a small girl's diary by the name of Alice. She was found one day in her room, a diary in one hand, a knife in the other. She was not completely dead, but her last words seemed to be just nonsense. No one knows what happened to her. She went mad, but she didn't want to go amongst mad people.