Allice in Mysterious Land (ON HOLD)

21: Altered

The gray clouds used to give way to the faint blue sky, but as time goes by, now it reveals a purplish hue. It might've been hours already, but I barely want to move away from this cozy spot I'm lying on.

Sandra has left for some time, as soon as the van's rumble was heard from the distance and brought out Roy, the twins, and Grand-Mad. She told me that she was going to ask Roy about his opinions of getting a doctor for Ax and I, though his unstable mood kind of worried her.

I look at the sky, losing myself between the murky clouds above. A flock of birds are squawking in between as they zip together in a straight line. Are they going to move somewhere to look for a new house? Or are they thinking Dogson City doesn't have enough food to feed them all?

It's like my life is as uncertain as theirs, unguided and astray. No matter what I do, or have done so far, none seems to lead my life in a better way. How long should I survive this way? Will there be a day when I make my parents, Auntie Morgan's family, and my friends proud?

A tug on my sleeve jerks me from my haze. Mr. Julian squeaks rapidly about 'treehouse' and 'doctor'. When I barely budge from my muse, his bulky palm drags me up and leads me along the rough forest road.

The next time my haze goes askew, I'm already sinking on the treehouse's couch. Splinters of wood and dust are flocking under my feet. A white-shirted grandpa is examining my bandage-crowned ankle with a scrunched nose. "Nasty," he says, "no infections, thankfully." He spares a sideways smile to Sandra at the door.

"How bad is it? Is it deep enough? Did I treat it well?" The flurry of questions betray the concern ringing in her tone. At the display of her bad habit—picking the dried skin of her lips—however, I'm assured that she's genuine with her feelings.

"Only to the muscles." The doctor places his medical purse onto his lap, his sharp eyes crinkling with amusement. "Don't worry, you'll make a great doctor, Sandra. Someone who isn't likely to get Parkinson's while being on duty." His smile doesn't reach his ears. Instead, it addresses his trembling hands.

"The disease isn't your fault, Doc." Sandra grabs a fresh roll of bandages. She skitters to the kitchen section and begins clattering the metallic items. Interrupting them is Ax's yelp from the front door.

The Sumatran tiger's fur is bathed with glaring scars. A young girl dabs them with a napkin, her pigtails hopping around as she does so. Her freckles are prominent even around the gloom—clearer than I've ever seen it before.

Arsy is helping to treat the wounded animal? Are my eyes tricking me?

Also, there's something about the grandpa that evokes my memory. Is it the underlying meaning of his smile? Or the sharp dive of his brows, though his eyes shine like warm lanterns?

The doctor beams. "You must've met my brother. People say though our faces differ, our expressions are similar." The crease between his eyebrows deepen as he continues, "I'm Lionel Zaragoza, the mayor's older brother. Isn't it funny how the older gets less recognition than the younger?" He snickers at his own joke, yet there's barely hurt in his gaze. "You better stop assuming things you don't know well enough. There's fear in your eyes, though we just met."

Sandra returns with a fresh napkin, a bowl of warm water, and a soap bottle. Mr. Lionel gently reaches my ankle with the wet napkin. His dabs trigger more pain, and I clutch the armrest for support while refusing a scream.