The Aftermath

The Dormouse stood under the chestnut tree, combing the remnants of the teapot out of his fur, and surveying the devastation as the card soldiers took away the Mad Hatter and the March Hare.

“They've done it this time,” he muttered to himself, there being no one else around.

“Never seen them quite this bad before though. Smashed a few teapots, cups and saucers, but never shredded the tablecloth or reduced the table and chairs to matchwood. Never had visitors either. Alice, she said she was called, it was her fault, had to be. All sweetness and light and left me with this mess, and them gone. Then again, I think the Hatter's been hitting the bottle again, going by the smell,” he said shaking his head.

The sun burst through the clouds, reflecting through a fragment of broken glass, a piece of alcohol soaked serviette started smouldering. A light breeze blew up, fanning the flame. The Dormouse collected his things and wandered off into the distance as the table, or what was left of it caught fire.

“Shame there weren't any crumpets, I could've toasted them, that would've been nice.”

by J.M.Nye

This was another of the short stories, I thought the dormouse should have a say.