musical chairs

the girl and i regard each other from our places in the room. she has been watching me far longer than i've been aware. she smirks at me grey eyed from her victorian armchair, rococo pink like easter eggs. my alarm rings. i look behind me to find the sound coming from a grandfather clock with a useless face, hands pointing to sigils instead of digits. it's chaos o'clock. i look back and she has advanced like a chess piece on an oversized board, her chair moved suddenly towards me with not even a whisper of taffeta or a skid of furniture on floor. she is surrounded now by a deranged tea party, a page from a demented story book. mangy blind rodents tightrope across her shoulders, their feet catching in her decayed apron straps. toad footmen in waistcoats look on from moldy doily lily pads in the wingback balconies, unamused. unnamed shadow and fur masked creatures cavort perversely at her feet, and she strokes the forehead of the march hare, sitting beside her with his teacup poised for a sip. my alarm rings again. they do not like this. the chair thrusts forward forcefully, now cornering me. the room grows as i shrink, surrendering to wonderland. i can see now the violet outline of her irises, paintbrush strokes on fine china. her smug set mouth is pink taffy pitch. she's the kind who doesn't mind staining her dress. i keep hitting snooze.