This is a story with no point. It is a mere recounting of a life from my perspective. I cannot be held responsible for the content, I write what is, what was, what really happened. This is the story of the Mad Hatter.
Numerous accounts of the origins of the Mad Hatter state that he became mad the same way that every other hatter did, through the daily inhalation of fumes coming from Mercury, the liquid not the planet this story will disprove that.
The Mad Hatter, or rather Mishell Alexandrov, was born in Moscow, Russia on March 12 in the year 1840. His father was the son of Russian aristocrats and his mother was the daughter of an Irish Lord and Lady. Mishell was a very intellectually adept child who, by the age of six, could read, speak and write in four languages: Russian, English, French, and Italian. He also excelled in chemistry, math and English. By the age of 9 he had developed the formula and the blueprint of that which would later become the Atomic bomb, when his notes were found and fine-tuned by Albert Einstein. It was said that if the I.Q. test had been around he would have scored somewhere between a 220 and a 232. The one thing that brought him the most fame and pleasure, other than chemistry, was his love of riddles wordplay. He himself had written and published three 150 page books filled with riddles. He also published a 90 page analysis of palindromes that was eventually adopted by Cambridge University, specifically for the advanced literature studies classes. For the tail end of Russian Ruler Nicholas I and the beginning of Alexander II’s reign Mishell was the scientific advisor to the throne, until he was let go in 1856 because a complete mental breakdown. This was the beginning of his psychological and social downward spiral and it was all because of one horrifying event, which profoundly affected him.
On Mishell’s father’s side of the family it was customary for each male to buy his first top hat when he crossed over into manhood. On the day of his sixteenth birthday Mishell’s father took him out to do just that, buy his first top hat. On their way back home two vagrants tried to hold up Mishell and his father, but his father would not submit to their demands. Not wanting to be punished for trying to rob a noble, one of the vagrants pulled out his Belgian Horse Pistol and blew Mishell’s father’s head off, Mishell, who had been standing behind his father, was splattered with the entire contents of his father’s head, and this subsequently caused him to black out. In a statement by Mishell he said the last thing he remembered seeing was a white rabbit running through the alley next to the Hat store Mishell and his father had come out of. He was very, very, deeply affected by this. He began to pay less and less attention to the real world and developed various eccentricities such as always carrying around a pet rabbit (said to be because of the rabbit he saw at his father’s murder) and also never taking his hat off.
After about three years of cooping himself up in his house Mishell became tired of being sad all the time, he wanted to find out how to finally move past the death of his father in as little time as possible. He planned to create some sort of pill, to be taken by the mouth, which could completely block the part of the brain that controlled sorrow. He worked laboriously for 14 months and finally came up with a very potent early formula for Lysergic acid diethylamide, also known as LSD or acid. He believed that this chemical compound, when ingested would affect the brain in such a way that you could no longer be sad. On May 19, 1860 at 12:30 pm Mishell Alexandrov took a 900 milligram dose of LSD and he was changed forever. His high from the absurdly large dose of LSD lasted for two entire weeks and Alexandrov was enamored with the feeling of pure ecstasy. He saw many things: smoking caterpillars and queens who lived backwards, card soldiers and disappearing cats, he even saw a pair of insanely stupid twins. He took notes, writing down every little thing he saw, or rather, thought he saw. The entire world around him appeared to be what it wasn’t. Wastelands were jungles and condemned houses were kingdoms, he was mad. For five years he did this. Taking absurd amounts of LSD and taking notes, which he carried with him everywhere, he had an entire boxful. He traveled throughout Russia meeting with kings who weren’t there and talking to his Rabbit friend who had a penchant for being punctual.
In June of 1865 while he was on his way to the see the White Queen in the eighth square, just a condemned house on the outskirts of Moscow, he saw a couple from England standing in front of a hat store, the store that had been the setting for such a horrible event in his life so many years earlier. He ran up to them furiously and, according to an account written by the man much later, proceeded to scream at them. According to the account Mishell, in a furious rage, screamed “Why is a Raven like a writing desk!” the man fearing for his life and that of his wife replied with a simple “I don’t know. Why?” According to the account Mishell proceeded to laugh hysterically and uncontrollably and replied to the man “I haven’t the slightest idea” he then chucked his boxful of notes at the man and ran off towards the condemned house. Unfortunately this condemned house was in considerably worse condition in than the other houses, and when Mishell entered and began to prance about the houses main support beam cracked. The entire house collapsed trapping Mishell and burying him with his rodent companion, and the White Queen of the Eighth Square. There was no funeral, no one cried, Mishell was not missed. He left no mark in the world other than a box filled with five years worth of notes about smoking caterpillars, and queens who lived backwards, card soldiers and disappearing cats, and even a pair of insanely stupid twins, a box full of notes that, in the final hour of his life he threw at a man, a random, non-important, insignificant man, a man that went by the name of Lewis Carroll.
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