Story Pieces - Response

Thanks to those that offered opinions. It looks like Waking Dream is the leader right now so, when it is eventually done I'll post it! Thanks again for taking the time to read and respond!

Story Pieces

As you may have noticed, I have recently been spending a lot of my time writing. I have several stories in process, but I'd like some input. Which ones should be continued, which should be scrapped? Any suggestions? I'm only going to give you a paragraph or two of each one, only three stories to start out, but let me know your thoughts.

1. Edric

Edric was seven years old when his mother died of illness. Seven is far to young to see your mother dead and your father turned drunkard. It is also too young to be left to fend for yourself, huddled in the cold dankness of your basement rooms. But death cares not for the particulars of those left behind. But fate, or possibly something else did seem to keep a rather close eye on this child of destiny who found himself trapped and suffocating in loneliness and fear. But Edric was not one to sit and wait for death to claim him. Seven years old is too young to take to the streets, but the streets, like death, care not about age. And so… he ran.

 2. Elysi

Alethea knew nothing about your world. She did not know about cars or airplanes, phones or computes. She had never seen a television or heard of the language that you speak. She had never seen a book (at least not the kind that you read) or seen a house like the one you live in. Never sent a text message, or posted a status update. She lived a place lost to time. And had it not been for the unforeseen tragedy of September 1^st, she would have lived her whole life without hearing of these things. For she lived deep in a mountain forest where travelers did not come and planes were not seen flying above. She lived in Elysi.

She saw her world as she was supposed to see it; as large and wide and free and wonderful. She saw herself as she was supposed to; as wise and strong and compassionate. She had been trained well by the elders, and by forces she did not even know existed. Yet for all these apparent differences, she was far more like you then you may think.’

3. Waking Dream

Danny was the first to rediscover some measure of sanity and logical though processing. They had been walking through a damp forest. While they had taken no measures to mark their path it was highly unlikely that their heavy boots had not left some kind of marks in the soft floor of the forest.

‘Search the ground. We are loosing light fast so we need to find our footprints and follow them and we need to do it before the sun goes down completely. Otherwise… ‘

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The three of them bent almost double scampered back and forth finding slight traces that looked like they might have come from their shoes.

It was a loosing battle. The sun was already so far down that there was no way they could cover enough ground quickly enough to get them back before all of the light was gone. Eventually they had to concede defeat .

‘Face it,’ Chris said ‘ we aren’t getting back tonight. We will have to wait till morning and search the treetops for the parachutes. Should be easy to spot when we actually have light. For now we need to figure out where we are going to sleep.’

‘She is going to think we ditched her.’

‘Or are dead.’

‘Or were stupid enough to get lost. Regardless, lets try to make sure we are alive to correct her assumptions tomorrow. We haven’t seen anything overly dangerous yet, but if we do I’d rather meet it by the light of day.’

‘Well we don’t really have any options. The branches are too high. We are stuck on the ground.’

‘What if we stand on each other’s shoulders?

‘Still won’t be tall enough. We will just have to sit with our backs to this tree, stay close and try to get some sleep.’

Laying on the canvas floor of their perch listening to the fire crackle below and feeling the wind buffet lift and lower the canvas shell she reviewed the events of the day. This was by far the strangest day of her life. In fact, the entire rest of her life felt far away and unreal. She wasn’t sure how she had known how to open the parachutes, or known about the survival packs stored inside. She wasn’t sure how she knew how to make a ladder out of spare rope, or make a bonfire, but the skills had come easily. What wasn’t coming easily was the ability to lead. She had sent the three bafoons off on their own more to get them out of her hair then anything and they had managed to go get themselves lost or injured. They had not been the most wonderful help to have around, but they had jumped off the side of a building to try to save her life and she had not done a very good job of being appreciative.

The cold kept waking Gabe up every couple hours, not to mention the damp. It was quite late and not even moonlight was visible this far down in the strange forest. There did still seem to be an odd glow to the air itself so that he could still see Chris and Danny slumbering fitfully a few feet away, but the forest was a mash of shadows of varying degree. It was impossible to tell anything about their surroundings except the one tree they sat next too.

Getting up to stretch his legs, Gabe strode in circles around the tree thinking about the day. Looking around he noticed something. When on the far side of the tree from where they were sleeping there seemed to be a stronger glow. It was a bit less green and misty. This glow seemed almost orange and somehow it seemed to warm him just glimpsing it. It seemed to be close one moment, and far away the next. It faded in and out of his vision. He had the inexplicable desire to walk towards it but knew that it would be incredibly foolish to leave the other two even for a moment. This forest was treacherous. He might never find them again. Instead he sat and pointed his feet towards the spot. When the other’s woke they would walk that way. Maybe there would be something there that would be useful. Maybe…

What Really Happened in Oz

By – One Who Was There

I know, I know, you have probably heard it said that it was a wizard, well, that wasn’t the only thing they got wrong about this particular story, so let’s start from the beginning, with the girl, you know the one, Dorothy.

You probably remember how it goes, she was young, had a dog, some nice neighbors, some mean neighbors, didn’t always get to do what she wanted, sometimes got mad about it, all in all, your typical teen. There really wasn’t much extraordinary about Dorothy.

There were, some extraordinary things, however, that happened to Dorothy. For example, the tornado that picked her up and carried her to Oz; she and her dog, and the tree house. That’s right, the tree house. Have you ever seen a house that can fly through the air, stay in one piece, crash land, and then appear back in the right spot at the end of a long walk? I didn’t think so!

How do I know all this you ask? Because I was there. Don’t bother asking Dorothy. She never noticed me, at least not for a long while. You see, I’m really good at blending in to the shadows, and this story has a LOT of shadows.

So, Dorothy, Toto, tree house, Oz.

They landed on top of a hay bale, luckily, that broke their fall. They did NOT land on top a witch, or any other person. They DID land in the hay bale of one very cranky person whom Dorothy always referred to as a witch. In Dorothy’s defense, she probably had a concussion, and Hilda did have an awful lot of warts, a rather unfortunate sense of style including her black bathrobe, and was shrieking as she chased Dorothy and Toto off with a broom. I’m sure Hilda looked a great deal like a witch, but sadly, she had absolutely no magical talent whatsoever. And while she screamed ‘Ye landed on me hay bale’ over and over apparently Dorothy only heard ‘Ye landed on me.’

So Dorothy (remember, mild concussion, probably in shock, hallucinating a bit, chased off by someone who looked a LOT like a witch and kept screaming about being landed on) slightly shakily headed into town. This was a tiny town of farmer folk in the middle of a summer festival. These farmers had fields and fields of poppies (remember, poppies come in later in the story), and they tended to try out their produce every summer in a big festival before the harvest began in earnest. Spirits were understandable high.

Before Dorothy ever reached town they already knew about Hilda (her screeches were plenty loud to carry) and they were plenty happy to have anyone come to visit them who could get such a reaction from Hilda. She wasn’t much loved round there (didn’t approve of their poppy farming. So when Dorothy stepped into town she found herself surrounded by ‘happy’ folk congratulating her on a job well done, she mumbled something about the witch by way of response and they all took up the cheer that she had beaten the witch. They carried on till evening and offered her much in the way of refreshments, which she partook of without a clue of what she was eating or drinking. We can safely assume that not everything Dorothy remembers happened exactly the way she remembers it. For instance, many of the people in town are in fact short, but no shorter then Dorothy, she was on a raised platform for most of her stay with the mayor’s family since she was a ‘guest of honor.’

Also, no fairy or good witch came to visit. Hilda, however, made another appearance, and, as she had changed into her favorite pink dress, put on a bit of makeup, and wasn’t screeching or cackling this time she looked quite different. The townsfolk knew who she was, of course, and so called out witch when they saw her. Remember, Dorothy had, unknowingly nicknamed her witch. It was Dorothy who decided that this witch must be a good one since she looked quite pretty by comparison, and was very well mannered. Several lessons to be learned here. Well, one major one: Stop judging people based on what they look like. Seriously!

However, lessons aside, Dorothy decided that ‘this witch’ must be a good one, and listened as well as her fuzzy head allowed as Hilda described the way she needed to go to get home. You see, Hilda had been justifiably freaked our when the tornado had blown through destroying half her crops, and then that splinter of wood that was once a tree house, Dorothy, and Toto and plummeted from the sky, almost hit her house, and crashed into her hay bales, destroying even more of her farm. However, after calming down for an hour or two she decided, with a little persuasion, that the poor girl probably needed help and had likely been even more freaked out then she was.

Due to this repentant attitude Hilda even put up with being called a witch all through her well intentioned directioning, as well as putting up with all the hallucinatory interruptions; like the road being yellow, the city being emerald, and the ruler being a wizard. The actual conversation went a bit more like this.

‘Witch! Witch! Witch! Witch!’ shouted several townsfolk near the stage including the mayor who was on the stage next to Dorothy.

‘Hello, mayor. Dorothy, we must speak’ answered Hilda with a roll of her eyes.

‘Um… witch? Good witch?’ mumbled an incoherent Dorothy.

‘Uh..Yeah… I’m good…I guess’ Hilda answered, a bit confused, but looking around at the half empty barrels and cakes she guessed this was probably going to be a rather interesting conversation.

‘Good witch!’

‘Right, so, like I was saying, I expect you need to get home.’

‘No place like home’ chimed in the mayor’s wife.

‘Home!’ shrieked Dorothy

‘Yes, home. I think the best way to do that’ she continued ‘is to follow this road right over here’

‘The yellow road!’ yelled a boy who was wearing party glasses. 5 minutes earlier he had called the grass yellow, and the sky yellow, so you can guess how yellow the road really was.

‘The brick road’ corrected Hilda

‘The yellow brick road’ answered the boy.

‘Like I was saying, follow that road…’

‘Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road’ mumbled the mayors son over and over under his breath in a rather annoying singsong voice.

‘…into the forest’

‘Deep dark, scary forest’ interrupted the mayor’s wife.

‘Come Lindy, don’t scare the poor girl!’ Hilda reprimanded.

‘Yellow brick road, deep dark scary forest’ echoed Dorothy while swaying back and forth to the boys incessant singing.

You have to admire Hilda’s patience in getting through the rest of it, warning against going off the path and getting lost, reminding her not to talk to strangers, and saying over and over again that she would get to a city on the other end (where the mayor always interrupted with a story about emeralds (which the city happens to export) and thus you have the miscommunications.

‘When you get to the city…’

‘Emerald city, emerald city’

… you will go to the ruler who s very wise.’

‘Witch?’

‘No.’

‘Wizard?’

‘What?’

‘Wizard! Wizard! Wizard!’ chanted the mayor (who liked big words that made him sound smart).

‘Oh I give up.’

Hilda couldn’t leave, after all of that torturous affair, without saying something about the cause of the nonsense, so she warned Dorothy to stay FAR away from poppy fields. This got much laughter from the townsfolk, and amid their laughter and dancing Hilda, disgusted, returned home. Dorothy, who lost sight of her, assumed that, being a witch, she had disappeared.

Well, there you have it. In the next hour, repeated snatches of the conversation prompted Dorothy to set out down the path, and, since the boy with the party glasses lent them to her, it really must have looked like a yellow brick road. And she followed it until she fell asleep along the side sometime in the night.

The next day when she awoke she saw a boy sitting on a fence post by a field. She ventured up to him, and still wearing the odd party glasses, with her head feeling like it was in a vice, he did not look quite human. So, Dorothy being the rather creative girl that she is insisted that he must be a scarecrow. Why she decided to speak to someone whom she was sure was a scarecrow I couldn’t say, but speak she did. And soon she had convinced the poor boy that he WAS  a scarecrow. He didn’t really know what a scarecrow was, but he was sometimes asked by the famers to scare away the crows and other birds in exchange for food, so he accepted the name without question. He was a rather simple boy, not by choice, but he had been orphaned as long as he could remember, and no one in those parts was going to educate a boy for free, so he was a beggar, and crow chaser, and a seed planter, depending on the season. When the girl asked if he wanted to come along he wouldn’t have said no for the world. She was, after all, rather cute, and he was incredibly sick of shaking sticks at old crows.

From that point on, she simply referred to him as Scarecrow. Since she was so sure that was his name, and it seemed to make her happy he didn’t argue. His name however, was Ben, but he was usually just called ‘boy’ or ‘you there’  so even ‘scarecrow’ was a step up. At least it was a name that belonged only to him.

Now his lack of learning became obvious right away. Ben did not have the biggest vocabulary in the world and stumbled over his words when he spoke. He had to ask many times for Dorothy to explain herself, and eventually cried out in frustration that he was so stupid and if only he had a brain (that was what the last farmers wife had said about him so it must be true). Dorothy quickly agreed that getting him a brain would improve matters tremendously and that settled the matter. They were off to get Dorothy home and Ben, or Scarecrow a brain. 

It was some time later, after they had passed out of all the fields and entered into the forest, and the light was growing dim, when they saw the woodsman. Now the woodsman was not made of tin, not in the least, but he was dressed in well oiled leather that shined a bit in the light filtering through the trees, and he was carrying an axe which he often used to cut down the trees, and he was crying up a storm. You see, his wife had just left him, and taken their only child with her. She had screamed a great deal of hurtful things at him as she left including the fact that he didn’t have a heart, and didn’t know how to love. I will not speculate on how much blame is really do him, however, he took these criticisms very seriously. They were, after all, the reason (he believed) why he was alone. Regardless, the squeaking noise of his cries and her rather disturbing glasses, as well as whatever head injuries she had sustained made her certain that this man was in fact tin, and rusty, and in need of oiling. An idea helped along by the fact that he was oiling his leathers at the time. As people where Dorothy comes from don’t often wear leather, and certainly never oil it while wearing it, I suppose we can understand the confussion.

The woodsman was not in the mood to argue with anyone, especially not a woman, so he simply nodded to everything she said, was named Tin Man, and eventually sobbed out his need for a new heart to witch Dorothy’s obvious response was to come see the wizard. Now the woodsman was not as simple as the scarecrow, but he WAS desperate, and desperate people will do desperate things. His desperation for the healing of his heart led him to follow a teenage girl to a city he had head of many times (though never had he heard that it was made of emeralds) and to believe in the existence of a wizard.

So, Dorothy was off for home, Scarecrow, to get a brain, Tin Man, to get a heart, and all off to see the wizard… whom didn’t exist… It really is amazing how mixed up a story can get so quickly. Almost like that telephone game that children play where one makes up a sentence and after whispering it down the line it comes out completely different!

So the travelers crept on until it was quite dark and they couldn’t see the road anymore then lay down right on top of it (the bricks held in some of the heat). It was quite uncomfortable to be sure, but I tell you it was warmer then the perch that I had in the tree behind them that night.

Around midnight terrible moans and groans came out of the woods, and I tell you that Dorothy had good reason for assuming it was a lion. It certainly did not sound human, but it was old Cluent who was scared of his own shadow, or too much light, too much dark, things that moved to fast, things that moved slowly, or anything else for that matter. And right now it was the dark that was driving him crazy. So Cluent, like the scardycat that he is, was running up and down the road in the middle of the night causing a ruckus to scare away any monsters that might have been lurking in the dark. Now there are no lions in these woods, so I was fairly confident that we were safe, but Dorothy set to shrieking at once, which set of the woodsman bawling (she sounded like his wife screaming) and set the scarecrow tumbling down into the ditch, and Toto yapping up a storm. It really was chaos. So I hopped down, drug the scarecrow up out of the ditch (he always assumed it was Dorothy), hushed Dorothy (she always assumed it was the tin man) and gave the tin man a hanky, and with the three of them calmed down slightly, Dorothy eventually coaxed Cluent into their little circle. The tin man had, by that time, made a fire, and ‘the lion’ came gladly from the dark, but would not get too near the fire either. Sitting there in the shadows of the flickering light he confessed himself a scardicat. The scarecrow, to make him feel better told him that lions are cats but aren’t always scared, and Dorothy decided that this ‘scardicat’ must be a lion in truth. And ever after that is what she called him. Lion.

Now I know what you are thinking. By the shadowy forest light, and flicking firelight maybe they looked a tad inhuman, but what about by day light? The story isn’t over yet right? But this is where we get to one of Dorothy’s strengths and faults all in one. She is a natural leader. I mean she had already convinced three people (if not the wisest, bravest, or most emotionally stable) to follow her unquestioningly. She led, they followed, and she seldom looked for any input. She had formed her expectations and they did very little to change those. Ben stayed by her side, though slightly behind, and did his best to talk to her but always got confused or made mistakes, reinforcing in her mind his lake of brain. The tin man followed behind, often sobbing and sniffling, and stopping to oil his leathers (this helped him calm down) and reinforced her perception that he would rust if wet and not oiled. The lion simply hid, always, even from Dorothy. Girls were another of the many things he was afraid of. She got glimpses of his red hair (that really was incredibly main like) sticking out from behind trees, the tin man, or scarecrow, but she hardly spent time trying to look at him. After all, she knew what lions looked like, right? Right.

So, another day of trekking brought them into flying squirrel territory. When they stepped off the path for the night they decided to go into the woods a ways looking for a place to sleep. I know you were thinking flying monkeys, but seriously, I don’t have time to explain the biological impossibilities there. Geez. You would think more people would think about that one. Then again, witches, wizards, people are willing to believe anything if it makes for a good story right? Well these squirrels were a bit large, made a lot of squeaking chattering noises, and flew about crazily while throwing nuts. They obviously were not big enough to pick up Dorothy or her companions, but the tree branches, which were thick and close together here off the road, clawed at them, caught at her hair, and added to the twilight mayhem of the swooping owls, and flying squirrels.

Eventually they escaped right into an old stone mill. To Dorothy’s hurried glance this must be a tower of a castle and the flying swooping, terrifying creatures in the forest must work for the master of this castle. In fact it was Hilde’s cousin (NOT sister) who lived here, and she was, and still is, on rather friendly terms with the animals. She would leave food out for them and they would swoop in and out to get it. Many owls even lived in the topmost room, for Marta never went up there and didn’t mind them strewing it about with feathers, pellets, and dropping. The squirrels were, thus, more wary of the old mill, and kept to the trees, screeching their reproaches at the carnivorous owls. It is a sight to put your imagination into overdrive, but, as I am not a flighty fanciful teenager, I was able to sort the fact from the fantasy. Fact, Marta did not wish Dorothy dead any more then Hilda did. She did admire Dorothy’s shoes and wish to know where she had gotten them. She did not want to take them (her feet were about twice Dorothy’s size). Since Dorothy was in a freaked out daze, she simply picked up the foot to look at the manufactures label at the bottom. Poor manners, yes, but poor Marta wasn’t very well mannered. Well, that freaked Dorothy out more then she could take, so screaming as if her very life was at stake she jumped out the window, and her companions, being the brilliant and courageous lot they were, followed right after her. Marta tried to call after them, but the screams had set off the owls and squirrels again and it was a good long time before the forest calmed down enough for any voices to be heard.

Lesson here: don’t send a farm girl, and three blindly following buffoons into the forest and expect them to know what creatures they see. I expect the woodsman, Kyle actually is his name; I expect Kyle probably knew what the creatures were, but he was too busy blubbering to correct any of the foolish notions of a headstrong teenager. Ben was just happy to be along, and Cluent thought for sure that he had almost been eaten; a brave lot indeed.

Well, as they travelled AWAY from the city trying to find their way back out of the woods they ended up back in the area of poppy fields, and after their scare, laid down to take a nap. Now I would like to point out another scientific impossibility. No, the flowers did not put them to sleep. These are poppies. Can they become a strong drug? Yes! Are they drug like when in the flower? No! They simply were so relieved to be out in the sunshine and away from the animals that they took a nap, and upon waking Dorothy remembered the warnings against poppies and assumed they had all been drugged into unnatural slumber. She really does have a rather fascinating imagination.

She also has absolutely no sense of direction. In this case that turned out to be a good thing. They found ‘their path.’ This path actually was pale brick, and actually was a much shorter rout to the city from this part of the poppy fields. The original path was fifteen miles away by this point. So, skipping out onto the path (and ditching the psychedelic glasses) they began following the ‘yellow brick road’ on towards the city. The tops of building were very soon visible, and by evening they had come to the ‘Emerald City.’ Shockingly (and I roll my eyes as I say this) it was NOT made out of emeralds. Nor did it look like it was, nor did anyone dress like it was. Making emerald jewelry was a chief business off the town and brought it more prosperity then the outlying farm villages; thus, they often referred to it as the emerald city. The town’s actual name is, well, I can’t tell you that. I suppose it is classified information. After all, there is a reason you haven’t heard of this place.

Just kidding. Why do you think it was called the Wizard of Oz? The city itself was called Oz. No one knows how it got that name. But it is so nice and short and simple that no one ever minded. And, after all, it’s one of a kind, not like Jamestown, Jonestown, or Independence, in every state in the country.

Anyway, back to the story.

As the sun was setting between the buildings the travelers stepped into town. Dorothy was so obviously not from around these parts, and her companions a rather oddly assorted group, so they were readily directed towards her ladyships house. It is a large house, a center for business and justice in the city. And, in support of the major export, this house is painted emerald green.

So, feeling like she was at last somewhere she was supposed to be Dorothy barged right in and demanded to see the Wizard of Oz. Well you can imagine her displeasure when she was informed that no such person exists. She immediately began ranting on the unfairness of life, the difficulty of the journey, and the ridiculous situation she was in. She ranted about being stuck with an idiot scarecrow. She ranted about being stuck with a worthless, weepy tin man, and she ranted about being stuck with a spineless sap of a lion. She turned to go and a deep melodious voice interrupted her rant.

‘I am the ruler of this city child. What is it that you require? Name your needs and I will do what is in my power to see them granted.’

During this interview I had the good fortune to have an excellent seat near the door, just behind a rather large plant, and was able to hear the conversation in deliciously accurate detail.

The lady, dressed in emerald green, with her golden waves down her back, and her piercing green eyes allowed her gaze to sweep the travelers, settling for the briefest moment on each one before returning to the first; Ben.

‘What do you wish, scarecrow?’ she asked; her voice deep and slow, with a smile twinkling at the edges of her eyes.

 ‘I wish, I wish, I wish I had a brain.’ said the scarecrow in breathless wonder.

‘Really?’ she asked with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes.’

‘Well then, by all means, bring him a brain. Are you incredibly particular as to the kind of brain? No?’

In marched two of her staff who, with revolted expressions, dropped a glistening, jiggling, grayish mass at the scarecrow’s feet.

‘EWWW! EWW! EWW! What is that?!?’

‘That, my dear scarecrow, is a brain. Is it not what you meant to wish for?’

‘Um… will it make me smarter? How do I use it.’

‘No. It will not make you smarter, and there is very little use for it unless you intend to eat it, which, I personally would not recommend.’

‘Oh. Where did it come from?’ Asked Ben, slightly terrified at the thought.

‘From the dear cow that gave its’ life for our lunch today.  I gather that since this is not what you were looking for that what you are really wanting dear Scarecrow, is not a brain, but knowledge, wisdom, and insight. These things, however, cannot be given. They must be earned.’

‘So you cannot help me?’

‘I promised my aid and I stand by that. If you are willing to put in the time and effort I will help you to achieve this desire, but I warn you; becoming wise does not happen overnight. It is not an easy road, and it will test you. If, however, you are committed, there is no reason you should not succeed. ‘

‘I will do what I can.’

‘No one can ask for more, Benjamin. Welcome to Oz.’

Leaving Ben blubbering and mumbling, and attempting a bow, shocked at her knowing his name and desperate to prove himself worthy of her attention and assistance (he succeeded in falling flat on his face. She had the good grace to not appear to notice and he righted himself quickly and quietly), she turned her gaze to the second traveler and asked again: ‘And what do you wish?’

‘Um… well, I was going to ask for a heart… but after seeing the brain… I’m not sure that’s really what I, I mean, I don’t want some fleshy blob, I….’ he trailed off looking for words

Her laughter was musical, light, like the brook near his cabin in the woods. It made him bold. He forgot his fear, looked directly into her eyes, and answered:

‘I wish for the ability to love. Whether that involves an actual heart or not I do not know, but that is what I wish.’

‘Just like your friend, you ask for something wonderful, but something that cannot be given. The ability to love is already inside you. Every being has the ability to love; it is what you do with that ability that matters. If you practice acts of love you will fuel that ability. Like your friend, if you are decided, I will do what I can, but you must be willing to go through many trials to achieve your goal.’

‘I, wait, what do you mean I already have the ability? Wouldn’t I know if I had the ability? Wouldn’t my wife, who left me because I cannot love, have known? Who do you think you are?’ he shouted, beginning to sob into his handkerchief.

If you have never seen a huge bearded man, dressed in leathers, with an axe over his shoulder, sobbing like a baby, it is a strange sight indeed.

‘Your emotions and your words are not in agreement, however, we shall see.’ She answered, again with a raised eyebrow and electric green eyes. ‘Guards, the girl, take her away; she can pay for his insolence.’

‘What? No! Why should she pay? No! Get your hands off her! Please! No! Let me! Punish me! Not the girl! Oh good lady, please!’

‘What is this? You do not cal this love?’ She asked with an amused look. The guards released Dorothy and stepped back again to their posts.

‘I…I don’t know… I guess, I mean, she is my FRIEND!’

‘Love takes many forms dear Tin Man, there is romantic love of course, the most often discussed, but there is also the love of friends, the love of family, the love of self, and, the most pure, the love of self sacrifice. If you can practice the last and most difficult by offering to take punishment upon yourself to spare a friend, you are certainly capable of the rest. Perhaps what you need are simply opportunities to love.’

‘I am sorry, your grace. I will do whatever you say.’

Her voice was grave and quiet, ‘I too am sorry to have caused you pain, no matter how brief. However, I think we shall work quite well together from here on out dear woodsman, Ken, I believe? Welcome to Oz.’

And how did she come by this knowledge of their names? Well for that information you are just going to have to wait.

‘And now, what do you wish dear lion?’ Watching Dorothy’s face during these interviews was priceless. She was smart enough to know that the use of her pet names was a bit of a mocking jibe since this woman seemed to know their real names quite well. She was also now free of those ridiculous glasses, had come out from under the effects of the concussion, and was actually truly looking at her companions for the first time. Imagine her surprise at not being accompanied by a man of tin, a man of straw, and a ferocious beast! It is no wonder that she clung to the original descriptions in her telling of the story. Revealing her massive oversights would have taken a great deal of humility, and that, unfortunately, is not something Dorothy seems to have had in abundance.

‘I, um, well, you see, I’m beginning to detect a pattern here, and, well, I don’t want to seem foolish, but what I want is courage, and, I mean, really, a jumpy scardycat, at my age, it’s just a disgrace! I mean, is courage an ok thing to wish for?’

‘As far as wishing goes it is just as good a thing as anything else. It is, as always, what you choose to do with that wish that matters.’

‘Umm… yeah… what?’

‘Have you, in the past, behaved bravely Lion? Ever?’

‘No. I’m not brave.’

‘No, as long as you keep that attitude I’m afraid you won’t be. What is important to you Lion?’

‘My, uh, friends?’

‘Are you certain? Usually one is a little more sure of what is important to oneself.’

‘Yes, my friends are important’ answered Cluent a bit more certainly this time.

‘Better. Now, what would you do if your friends were suddenly imprisoned?’

‘Run away! Oh goodness, you aren’t going to do that right? Oh I might die of fright.’

‘No sir, and I’m afraid that is not so brave, but after you had run away, once you were safe and sound, and your friends weren’t, when you knew that you were the only one who could save them. What would you do then?’

‘Hide.’

‘Then there is nothing I can do for you.’

‘What?’

‘Until you decide that there is something more important than your own safety there is no escape from cowardice.’

‘You mean, I will never be brave?’

‘That, dear lion, is up to you. Bravery is not ceasing to be afraid, but deciding that there is something more important than letting that fear rule your life. There is no end of reasons to be brave. Someday I am sure that you will grab one of them and let it take you where it may, but as I said, you must first come to understand that there are things more important than your own safety. This will be a painful lesson for you to learn. You have cowered for too long in the corners of your selfish mind. Your cure will not be an easy one, lion. Are you certain you wish this?’

‘N-No.’ he stammered sadly.

‘No, I did not think so. It is too bad. You really could be very brave.’

‘I, I could?’

‘Of course you could. It’s all there inside of you just waiting for you to let it show itself.’

‘Will you help me?’

‘Yes, lion, if you wish it.’

‘I do.’

‘Very well. Welcome to Oz Cluent.

‘And what, young lady, do you wish?’

‘I wish to go home!’ Dorothy fairly shouted. The impatience, the injustice (as she saw it) of having to go last, and the humiliation of seeing her delusions known had made her, I’m sorry to say, rather less lovable then she could usually be.

‘I see. And where is home?’

‘Kansas.’

‘What makes Kansas home?’

‘It’s where I live!’ Dorothy said through gritted teeth.

‘You have lived in Oz for the last week. Does that make Oz home?’

‘No!’

‘Then what makes Kansas home?’

‘You know what I mean!’

‘Indulge me Dorothy, since you seek my assistance. You may find that you learn something along the way.’

Fairly growling with irritation Dorothy replied. ‘Kansas is home because that is where I was born.’

‘So if your family had moved the day after you were born then Kansas would still be your home even though you didn’t remember it?’

‘Um…no, I guess home would be where my family was, and my friends, and my house.’ The irritated edge almost forgot to be there in the momentary confusion.

‘Is your house so important? Could you not feel at home without it?’

‘I would miss it. I’ve lived there all my life.’ said Dorothy, reestablishing the irritation in her voice.

‘I see. So home is where your family, your friends, and your memories are.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed.

‘Very well then. I have a proposal for each of you.’

‘That’s it? Your aren’t going to tell me that home is inside of me and I should be at home where I am?’ mocked Dorothy in a rather poor imitation of her ladyships voice.

‘There is much truth to what you are saying, and you could choose to call this place home,’ she said with a sad smile ‘yet while it is in my power to do so I would rather return you to your family, for their sake if not for yours.’

‘You really are going to send me home?’ Dorothy’s bitterness melted away in an instant. She decided this woman may not really be as ugly, or as irritating or as worthless as she had decided. ‘Thank you!’

‘You are welcome Dorothy. Listen well and we will see if you mean those thanks.

‘Travelers, three of you come from within these lands. I would welcome you into my realm with open arms and help you find those things you seek. Benjamin, you would learn to read, be given a tutor. If you study hard you would learn a great many things about commerce, art, music, history, geography, mathematics, science and human nature. You would travel and see the world, wander the streets and observe its’ people. In good time you could become one of my wise advisors, caretakers to this land, for to take care of it, you must first understand what it needs.

‘Ken, you would be sent to the orphanages, the poorhouses, and the workhouses, you would see those who need your love and practice giving day after day with or without return until you begin to feel both loving and loved. If you are successful you may bring comfort to a great many people who desperately need it.

‘Cluent, you would be sent to the guard, you would be trained so that you cease to think of yourself as a sniveling coward and begin to see yourself as a soldier. If you are successful you would begin to think more of the lives of your comrades then your own, more of the safety of those you protect then your own, and if you succeed in this you will be considered very brave indeed.

‘Child, you wish only to go home, and to that I will do all I can. However, it will take time to assemble the necessary resources. Until I have everything in place I would ask that you be Benjamin’s first tutor and teach him to read as best as you can. Once that task is complete he will be ready for school and your transportation will be ready to take you home.

‘What say you?’

Their exclamations were all to the affirmative. Lion was terrified at the thought, but was doing his best to attempt to be brave in the face of uncertainty. Dorothy grumbled slightly over the delay, but truth be told, now that they were safe, she was reluctant to leave her new friends and looked forward to getting to spend a few days with them before she left.

The witch, it turns out, wasn’t a witch at all. She was incredibly young to be a ruler, and very wise for her age, and somehow this combination had convinced the other Ozians of the outlying areas that she must have magical powers. She was, however a good ruler, and true to her word. At the end of 2 weeks Scarecrow/Benjamin had finally learned all his letters and learned to read and write his own name, he was fascinated by the fact that words could be written, and read. Sadly, he had never before had the chance to see them. He really was exceptionally bright, if only anyone had ever taken the time to teach him. Tin Man / Ken was proving to be quite useful and loving as well. At first his size and his gruff manner terrified the poor children, but as they got to know him they all loved him right back. He gave excellent piggy back rides and always knew who needed it most. Lion/Cluent took the longest to change. He never stopped flinching when things came towards him, or cowering of fright in the dark, but he gradually learned to do what he must in spite of his fear. The unrelenting commands of the officers proved to him that he could do things even when he was scared to do them, and the friendship of his fellow soldiers gave him a reason to want to do well. And, Dorothy? Well, she got her wish too, though it also was not in a way she would have expected. There were no magic shoes, no flying houses, or sleep spells, or anything that she would have dreamed up. Instead she found herself walked out of Oz by none other than me. Yes, me. You see I am one of the queen’s wise advisors. I am the reason she knew their names, and the reason Hilda had that bee in her bonnet about setting the poor girl off down the right path. I’ve always been a bit of a wanderer, and as I said, I flit in and out of the shadows quite well. It’s not magic, its talent, and practice, but it did freak poor Dorothy out when she found out.

When we were far out in the woods, out of sight, a helicopter landed to take her home. You see we Ozians like to live without technology, but the queen insists on maintaining some contact with the outside world, and all of her advisors have traveled abroad, used cell phones, flown in planes, and all the rest (including me), and while we prefer the peaceful life of good honest work and no buzzing/ringing interruptions, we are also wise enough to see technologies worth in some situations. The helicopter was also bringing in vaccines and medicines for me to deliver back to Oz. Health and education are the two areas the queen does not allow for her realm to fall behind in.

Dorothy made it home safe and sound, Toto too, and while her family was terribly worried and the tree house was gone, her house, barn, friends, were all just as she left them. She had to have some kind of story to explain her long absence, and really, who wants to say that they spent the last two weeks tutoring a boy they once thought was a scarecrow, so she stuck to her original story (much to our relief) and no one for a moment believed any of it to be true. There were many hospital visits and some concern about head trauma and shock, but everything soon settled into a regular rhythm in which Dorothy really was glad to be home.

And, while Dorothy, Ben, Ken, and Cluent may not have lived happily ever after, they did have many happy days during the rest of their lives, and while they sometimes missed their adventures together in Oz they all agreed that it was good to have brains, hearts, courage, and a place to call home.

The End.

P.S. -You see, we may not have witches, or wizards, in Oz, but we love our land, our plants, our animals, and our emeralds. So when you see a stone of deep green, think of us, here in Oz.