Alice of Life
By Bob the Dog
It began, as all great odysseys do, with a knock on a hollow log.
“Open up,” said a tiny voice. “We have news.”
Bob the Dog rubbed the sleep from his third eye—one he used for dreams and jazz—and peeked outside. They’re stood Penelope the Owl in a tweed vest, Maurice the Goat wearing one boxing glove, and a possum named Milt who would not be important to this story except that he smelled like nutmeg and existential dread.
“We’re going in,” said Penelope, holding out a hand-drawn map titled The Esophageal Tract of the Known Universe. It spiraled like a cinnamon bun.
“In where?” asked Bob, his tail already wagging in multiple dimensions.
“Into the belly of the Alice of Life,” Maurice said solemnly, belching something that smelled like a fermenting encyclopedia.
The Alice of Life, as legend told it, was either:
- A Dimension-Sized Womb Of Creative Energy.
- A Sentient Amusement Park Operated By Semi-Conscious Quantum Squirrels.
- Or A Giant Talking Clam With Seasonal Depression.
No one knew for sure, but it was Wednesday, and adventure was cheaper mid-week.
They traveled through pockets of laughter, skipped across fields where dandelions whispered tax advice, and finally descended into a cavern shaped like a forgotten lullaby. The walls pulsed with memory. A sign read:
WELCOME TO ALICE. REMOVE SHOES AND EGO.
Penelope meditated on a mossy perch, communing with what might have been God or a malfunctioning jukebox. Maurice tried to sell enlightenment door-to-door inside the astral plane. Bob?
Bob sniffed the truth out of everything, leaving little yellow insights behind him.
Inside the heart of Alice, they each saw a vision:
- Penelope saw a thousand unread books with fluttering pages and whispering, “You’re already wise, old bird.”
- Maurice saw his younger self, unbruised, unbitter, dancing with a sandwich made of hope.
- Bob saw a human boy scratching his ears and saying, “Good job, buddy.”
They left Alice with no treasure, no power, no followers—only lighter.
“Life is weird,” said Bob.
“It’s supposed to be,” said Penelope.
Maurice said nothing. He just chewed on a glowing mushroom and winked at the sky.
