(minor spoilers for The Wizard of Oz)

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaah, aaah!”

“Miss, calm down! Calm down, it’s okay!”

“Aaaaah, no, nononono no!”

“Miss, please.” The Munchkin looked up at her frantically, darting glances at the alarmed crowd. “It’s all right!”

“I—I just killed somebody! It’s not all right!”

“Miss, please,” the Munchkin said again. He took off his cap and squeezed it in both hands. “She was the Wicked Witch. She ruled Munchkinland with an iron fist. We’ve been suffering for years.”

Any response the girl would have had was cut off by the arrival of the Good Witch of the North, alighting in her magic bubble as per custom. She smiled beatifically as she moved, greeting each Munchkin near her individually with a clasp of hands or a curtsy.

The Witch came to stand in front of her. “Not just Munchkinland but all Oz owes you a great boon, child.”

“I killed her.”

“We are forbidden from interacting with one another’s magicks,” the Witch explained. “This is itself a boon, for we can mark everything in our domains with our own magick, and then it is protected from interference by the others. But this has constrained our actions against the East and West for some time.”


“A great many people are dead with it her fault,” the Witch said seriously. To her side, the Munchkin who had spoken first looked ashen, and made a quick gesture that seemed religious more than anything else.

“That’s—that’s not the point.”

“Would it have been more right to let her reign of terror go on unabated?” The Witch pursed her lips.

“I, I don’t know, I’m only eleven!”

“Miss, please,” the Munchkin said once more, quietly. “Today should be a cause for celebration. We’ve all been praying for a miracle.”

“If she had been struck down by natural causes,” added the Witch, “there would have been no issue here. Only her sister would shed tears over this—well, not shed tears exactly—”

“It was a natural cause. It wasn’t like I made the tornado, or, or, built the house, or—”

“You didn’t mean it,” the Witch said in a kindly voice.

Frustrated, and finding no solace, the girl took a few steps away and sat down on a stone before bursting into tears.

First proper post for NaCreSoMo 2016! I just watched the recorded stage performance of The Wiz for the first time, and it’s a little more pointed than the original when it comes to Dorothy’s own sins (although this mostly comes up later, when they head off to the West). It got me thinking how someone with a strong moral sense might not bounce back to cheerfully heading to the Emerald City.

I may do a sequel for the second such event in the story, for which Dorothy has fewer excuses.