Here's a heavy WIP and I fix up some stuff for appearance and other sections
Name: Eugene Slade Heginbotham a.k.a Mad Hatter
Age: 28
Appearance: WIP
Personality:
They say I am mad. Me? Me? Mad? I think not. How am I mad? I have not one furrow on my brow. They say I am clearly a nutcase. Last time I checked you cannot sue a nut for a case. You can't get a lawyer if a peanut has wrongfully mistreated you. Trust me I tried and they said I was mad then too. They speak I speak in unanswerable riddles. All riddles have answers. It depends on if you look for them are not. Sometimes the answers just appear in your mind. A riddle is like a magic trick. First you don't get it and then it appears like a rabbit from a hat. They say I drink too much tea.
I don't think there is anything wrong with my drinking habits. And if I have to, I'll cut myself half a cup if I like. They say they cannot follow me. Clearly they can. It's a matter of stepping one foot in the other. Otherwise I like my tea in the afternoon and a nightcap before I go to bed. I dislike cats for many reasons. And I am not fond of hares for they have too much hair and are always so terribly late.
Bio:
Why are memories and clay the same? Easily influenced, easily molded by others. They say, but mouths just talk, and brains don’t remember as well. Sometimes nightmares are dreams and sometimes dreams are nightmares. They say the Queen did something to my head far too much, but she did a number of things to a number of heads and I am not quite sure which is mine.
There was a lot of red, but red can be a number of things. It can be a dress from a best friend, but it could be the last glimmer of life in a body. I saw a lot of dresses of red on soil, and a lot of bodies that no longered had dreams, had no longer a memory to mold.
The Queen barked orders, but she was not a dog. They say she was, but she quite clearly did not have enough hair, nor obedience to be a dog.
Why is tragedy the same as hope? Because one breeds the other. Tragedy strikes and seek out hope. A little glimmer of light they call hope, but when they have hope. When they hold that little light. Sequins on their red dress, they worry about the dark, like a black dress for a funeral scattered across the bed sheets.
Why is death like life? Because death brings life. Life brings death. When someone spreads themselves across you like a mirror, showing off that bright red dress, that spills across the bed like soil. You put that red dress on for the first time and it wouldn’t be the first time you put that dress on.
Why are friends and family the same? Because both come and go, like the coming and going of sacrifices made from those who wore red dresses. They spill onto your personal shore like waves crashing onto the tide.
So, then, the question remains. Who am I?
