“I am afraid,” whispered the little girl.
At this time, and always on cue, the cunning Cheshire cat appeared. But unlike most creatures that entered with a magical sound (or at least a little poof) the cat emerged like the moon – hushed.
“What seems to be the matter?” he coaxed.
I am afraid that they might burst. The bottles inside me I mean. I have kept them safe and tightly shut but with all the things happening and unhappening, I am afraid that they would break.
Perhaps it is not the breaking which you are afraid of but the cleaning-up once everything has been broken.
What ever do you mean?
“Oh nothing really,” whispered the cat as he plucked the petals of the daisies on the ground.”
And just like that; the cat was gone.
There was nothing left of him except for his manic laugh – which wasn’t quite there as well and his paw prints on the petals of the daisies.