Off With His Head!

Time passes, as time does, and the world has turned many times since the Queen of Hearts left Wonderland. Although she has long been forgotten by the land and those who now dwell there, she has never forgotten her kingdom. Her exile has not been easy for her, and though she demands to be returned to her home, her servants have been unable to accommodate her. Until now. Someone has told her tale again. She does not know whom, nor does she care. Knowledge is all that matters, and someone in Wonderland remembers her. That
is all she needs to return and gloat over the despair her kingdom must have suffered in her absence.

The queen felt a moment of victory as she and her executioner were chauffeured across the bridge leading to that majestic land. The toll plaza still stood, but the entry fee to Wonderland had increased to $5. The queen
yelled in disbelief, “Off with his head!” She pointed at the toll collector. Her irritation over the increase fee made her next words drip from her lips like venom, “When we ruled this kingdom, the fees were reasonable!” Despite
the queen’s rage, the toll collector would never feel the executioner’s blade. As a matter of fact, no one had been beheaded since Alice had escaped. The toll collector just watched in bemusement as the coach moved past his station and entered Wonderland.

“We demand to be taken to Riverview Drive!” the queen spat. It would sooth her ire to inspect the ruined cottages of her former subjects. Much to her displeasure, the cottages were still standing strong. Her frown deepened, but she remained silent until she discovered that her desired path was blocked to her. The queen shouted “Off with his head!” once more. The executioner got out of the coach in an artificial show of bravery, though there was no one for him to behead. The queen told the driver to continue to the right, leaving the poor executioner behind her . . . not that he'd done her any good at all. His ax had remained must unsatisfactorily in his belt this entire trip. As the driver rounded the curve, the queen spotted her old croquet court. “STOP!” yelled the queen. “We shall take it on foot from here.”

She gathered her skirts, grasped her scepter, and left the coach to inspect the grounds. The coachman knew not to follow her. He did, however, watch her as she angrily stomped away. The queen barely noticed that she was alone because she was caught up in remembering that fateful day. As she approached her croquet court, even more details flooded her mind. She remembered the flamingos and the hedgehogs . . . and that dastardly Alice. The queen's face always showed her anger and this was no exception. In an effort to control her rage, she turned her back on the croquet court and all of the memories it conjured.

“Walking this way will be better,” she thought. Unfortunately, it was not better. The queen was soon reminded of that blackest of days once more when she approached her garden. The criss-crossing boxwoods and sparking fountains were lovely, but the roses . . . oh those blasted roses! “They were supposed to be red,” she grumbled.

The queen shook her head and continued on. She reflected on the bitter past and wasted a coin or two on wishes. “Wishes won’t help us now,” she huffed. “What we wouldn’t do to relive that day.”

She walked on, alone for the first time in ages and completely lost in thought. She was startled as bicyclists leisurely passed her. “How we loath them,” the queen thought. “They should never have been allowed to keep their heads.” Her unhappy thoughts carried her forward until something on the right caught her eye.

“These majestic lions guarded our castle,” the queen mumbled. “Our castle! Yes!” Intent to once again find her throne, she rushed forward and soon stood facing her home. The ruins gave no hint of the palace that once stood here, and her heart sank. Confusion overtook her. “What is this?” she thought. Her ever present anger remained, yes, but a new emotion stirred in her soul.

She needed a moment to collect herself, so she dashed around the left side of what was left of her home and sat on the crumbling foundation, partially hidden by some palms. “We feel so . . . sad . . . and our eyes are... are leaking!” The queen was horrified and ashamed of this new emotion. She heard more of those shameful bicyclists approaching. She couldn't allow herself to be seen in this unsettling state of affairs.

The Queen of Hearts looked around quickly for a solution. She noticed some palm branches near her left hand, and a plan formed in her wicked head. After she carefully arranged her skirts around her and grasped her scepter tightly, she dove under the palm fronds.

To this day, the queen is hidden there. Her tears have dried, but her anger is as hot as ever. If anyone dares to disturb the queen, it will be “Off with his head!”