|
Not so Wicked
A large mob of peoples from all across the Land of Oz stood, silent and still, their eyes fixated on the balcony that jutted from the gates of the Wizard's Palace. Green garments wisped with the summer breeze. Dust rose from the courtyard darkening the view of the balcony. Yet they remained unvoiced and unmoving. A tall-cloaked figure stood in the back of the crowd, hood drawn up, even though the sun beat down like mad
Suddenly, a robe of green silk glittered with emeralds stood on the balcony, Madame Morrible. The air hummed with unfulfilled expectation. Madame Morrible held up her hands preparing to speak.
"Get to the news already!" thought many people in the crowd, some voiced aloud.
"The Wicked Witch of the West," cried Madame Morrible, her voice boomed, joy obviously present, "...At last...is DEAD!"
The mob burst with applause, whistles, shout of thrill. Firecrackers banged, confetti littered the streets and tears ran down a number of people’s faces.
"Here are the Witch’s destroyers!" shouted Madame Morrible, shoving Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin-Man, and the Cowardly Lion forward.
The cheers grew louder. Pleas of thanks and appreciation ascend. Dorothy waved a blush on her cheeks, while Tin-Man acted as if he killed the witch himself.
"No-one mourns the witch...,” whispered the cloaked figure, deafened by several people roars of exclamation, each person wanted desperately to be heard.
"At last there's joy...!"
"Good news...!"
"Wickedness was punished...!"
"Thank goodness...!"
However, one chant grew quickly, turning into a song of bloodlust.
"No one mourns the wicked!"
Emmi couldn’t help but chuckle; her cloak bobbing as she did, such excitement over such a trivial matter. She hastily melted away into the shadows as a radical member of the bloodthirsty mob began to raise a grand tombstone reading "THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST AT LAST IS DEAD".
Emmi despised these people. The celebration would last all day and well into the night. When the last of the revelers had gone to their bars, their temples, and their massage parlors, Emmi would come back bearing flowers and brooms. Elphaba was not wicked, and no one deserves to have his or her death celebrated. However, for now she would just go home. She missed her Gingerbread house. It wasn’t convenient to have a house made out of sweets but her father had given it to her so she loved it.
As she walked down Yellow Brick Rd to the Black Forest, she noticed that an odd number of birds were out this eve. Emmi then heard weeping, and a sob or two. She turned the last curve that led to her house and there in front of her half eaten door were children. Two of them, a boy and a girl. The Boy wiped the tears from his younger sister’s eyes. Emmi didn’t know how to feels. She had never encountered children before; especially non-that have eaten her door. The city’s inhabitants didn’t let their children play in the Forest and she rarely went to the capital.
Emmi didn’t want to scare them so she kept her cloak on and slowly approached them. "Well, well!" said Emmi, gazing over the Children for injuries. They had none but were quiet thin, mainly the boy. "And haven't you children a sweet tooth?"
They looked surprised but the older boy quickly recovered and stood. “This is Gretel and I’m Hansel. If this is your house we are sorry for eating it.” His voiced trembled more with every word. “We were just so hungry.”
“Of course they were” Emmi thought with a sigh.
She didn’t know how long they had been in the Forest but by their shabby clothes and thin frame, it must have been a while. "Come in! Come in, you've nothing to fear!" Emmi said in her most gentle voice, she didn’t want to frighten them away.
Luckily, for Hansel and Gretel, however, that they had ended up at the sugar candy cottage instead of that mean old Granny’s house who had a tendency to eat wolves and sometimes little girls with red hoods. The two children would have met a nasty witch. She feed both children as they told her their story. Emmi’s Heart broke for them. Apparently, after their father had remarried, the children were forced to work at the mills and eat less food to feed his fat new wife. They had run away hoping to find a better home.
“ You poor children” said Emmi “ you should stay here.”
“ But what about food?” said Gretel shyly.
Emmi laughed, “Of course I will feed you, silly girl. And your brother too.”
Hansel smiled “ No. She means do we have to work for the food?”
Emmi thought it over, “ I guess I should…” the children tensed up. “ how does helping me clean the house sound to you.” They gradually relaxed.
They lived happily together for many months. Hansel and Gretel often playing in the garden or helping Emmi with the housework; they were well behaved. Emmi loved them like her own children, and wanted to do something nice for them. She loved to bake, so when her father bought her the house he had a giant oven put in just for her. She decided to bake them special cinnamon bread.
Emmi was busy preparing and bustling about, that she failed to notice she left her cloak on the counter. People were often alarmed by her appearance. She had always worn her cloak so not to scare the children. Emmi had an odd combination of green skin, a large nose, and black hair. Traits she inherited from her mother.
The heat of the oven had warmed the house so Emmi had yelled for Gretel to bring her a little bail of water from the well. Gretel came in. “Mother, your water. ” she said.
Emmi was bent down checking the bread and didn’t hear Gretel. “Mother, are you okay?” Gretel said next to Emmi’s ear. Started Emmi had straighten herself to fast, lost her balance, and fell into the oven. Before Emmi could cry out, before a shocked Gretel knew what was happening, the oven door shut and deep, seething pain consumed her.
Emmi loved those children in the brief time they had together; it angered her to see just how fleeting life was. In death, she was given knowledge and she was given vision. Emmi watched as Gretel pulled her body out of the oven, crisp and blistered. Hansel sat down next to her body and while holding his sister, they cried. They had cried over the death of a witch and old green hag with no looks or beauty. Someone mourns the wicked.
|
