Behind Sanity

Chapter Fifty-Six

Behind Sanity

Chapter Fifty-Six

1

John had had his nose stuck in the red leather journal ever since he’d settled back in his office at the asylum.  It was the one he had retrieved from beneath the table at his father’s home, and he was sure it held his answers.  Elisa had been going back and forth from the room, making sure he had everything he needed, but she was now sitting on the patient’s bench, going through some of the other files and taking down notes.  There were still several stacks of books, untouched on the floor. 

While Robertson had still been quite apprehensive about delving even deeper into his father’s madness, he had pressed on through the journal, and suddenly, he couldn’t put it down.  The information was fed into his brain, and he began to understand.  Now, he was reading over it a second time, making sure that what he’d read – or had thought he’d read – wasn’t misleading him.

November 7th

It has finally come to me!  The truth is here!  Oh, how I’ve waited for the answers to be known to me and now I can prove it!  I understand now; Wonderland does exist!  And in this journal, I will explain how.  

It took a while for me to grasp the concept myself.  How could so many different people have seen the same things if those things did not truly exist? 

At first I believed that it could have been a specific part of the brain that had been damaged, causing the same images to be presented to numerous people.  Forget demons; I was never a man to believe in that.  But if that theory of brain damage was correct, how could the periods of unconsciousness be explained?  Besides, as I read the journals I knew they were talking of the same place.  The very same place.  These were not images concocted by the dysfunctional mind.  One man’s white rabbit was the same as the next man’s.  There had to be a different answer.           

My search then led me to trace back to the conditions of patients before they experienced the “Wonderland Disorder”.  My findings then found no patterns, and were inconclusive.

It wasn’t until now that I realize the truth. 

What if it was possible that something as simple and taken-for-granted as an imagination could break away from a mind and exist on its own?  What if?  And what would it do for itself if it could?  Is it truly possible that it could create its own plane, surpassing even God in doing so, to become something of its own with no rules and no sense of reason?  I say that it is possible!  But how does it happen?  I see no medical reason, and that is where the theories I have come to believe border on being insane themselves. 

Mothers are always telling their children not to allow their imaginations to run off with them, and as they grow older, their focus gets away from those extraordinary things, and eventually we all become absorbed in drab, regular life.  That imagination dwindles until it is like the last fading ember in a hearth.

But maybe – just maybe – there was an imagination so huge, so gigantic and inexhaustible, that it could not be contained inside the limits of a human mind.  It could not vanish, and it refused to dissipate.

Perhaps it did run away, and the mind of a little girl was torn and her own soul was pulled into that realm of imagination, leaving her body alone and lifeless, preserved forever.

She made herself queen of the realm.  She called it Wonderland.  But the imagination, though separated, was still bigger than she was.  It corrupted her and stole her goodness.  It made her a tyrant.  And worst of all, it wanted to punish all adults, for they had forsaken it.