There was a woman once, a woman like any other woman, not too tall, not too small, not too young, not too old, who slept in her bed, in a house. Unbelievably, but not at all impossible, her head went out through the wall, no matter it was winter or autumn, spring or summer, to the mercy of the snow, rain, wind, storm or morning dew. This way she could hear everything that happened during the night, when the others slept, except for a few who worked nightshifts, the boozers drinking in the bars and thieves planning to steal from the distraught. Curiously, even if she slept, she could hear subtle noises, causing her to toss and turn in her bed, rapid eye movement and eyelids tremor.
When she woke up, she felt her head sometimes frozen, sometimes swollen, heavy and hardened like a rock. Dizzy all day long, she lost her balance walking and rarely experienced headaches. Gradually, she could hear smothered sounds the others didn’t care about. In a few years, she felt she could sleep in bed, while being lifted up in a kind of floating. Then she realized she can get out of the house without opening the doors or windows, like mist, even though she was lying in her bed, with her eyes closed. Her head, still attached to the body, stuck out of the façade wall, could ruminate distant mysterious sounds, whispers, animals’ sounds and birds’ caws. One night, she decided to venture ascending above the roof, looking down the street. It narrowed instantly, pointed with light patches. She floated a bit aside to see the neighbouring alleys and in no time she was above the town centre, heavily lighted. Happy, she danced in the air, turning upside down and all around, smiling. “There is no gravity” she told herself. She sensed no coldness, nor anything else and the seconds felt like hours or days. Invariably, she always got back on time for a proper awakening, or maybe she couldn’t wake up if her mind wasn’t back inside, gradually re-entering the wall when scattered light strips dawned.
In the morning, she could remember dreams about her wandering on unknown streets, even in unknown countries. She preferred the dreams during which she visited her home in the village. She took great joy in entering the house, walking downstairs, while the outer night lightbulb reversed its delicate brightness inside. Then she closed her eyes and the house projected itself through a mirror, flinging her in a vertical universe. There she saw another herself looking straight at her, it was her own reflection. She was wearing a beautiful dress, had a beautiful make-up, a nice hairstyle and had a serene smile on her face.
– Who are you? she asked the other one.
– I am your reflection, but I am different. I am always happy, because I am in Wonderland, her replication answered.
– Tell me about Wonderland, she said.
– In this world, the trees are liquid. They drain to the ground when they cry and resurface, springing up unto the clouds, when they are happy. Some of them sing, sometimes. The houses are alive, waving their walls. They appear and disappear out of the blue. Mine accompanies me everywhere. It becomes invisible and comes after me like a feline. It has big eyes, wide open in all directions. It is white with red points, slowly streaming down its forehead. I hear it whispering, even when I’m flying. I come here every day and always forget to go back. Then, I hear the house calling me. She always waits for me, quietly, in the yellow corner.
– This is magnificent, indeed. Can I come with you from now on?
– Of course you can, but you have to smile happily all the time. This is the condition.
– I will smile and I will be happy, I promise.
A blinding light hit her eyes and the woman woke up. She touched her head and found it securely attached to her body. “This is good”, she thought, “my head is still on”. From now on, she had a new friend, her own reflection in the looking glass that mirrored a vertical universe, the Wonderland where everybody was happy all the time.
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