So I heard a song on Pandora, and it gave me an idea for a story. This chapter is pretty short but only because it's the intro to the actual story.
This is all in Fiyero's point of view. Post-musical verse.
Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked:(
Every morning, for the past six years, when the clock struck eight, my wife would wake up quietly and leave me to sleep for another hour. She would change into her dress, lace up her boots, run a comb through her hair, and take care of anything else she thought needed tending to after looking in the mirror. Before the clock even hit the half hour, she would be outside tending to the horses and gathering up the eggs left by the couple of chickens we bought last spring. Leaving those in the kitchen, she would go into the room across the hall from us and do what was needed to be done in there. The next part was my favorite: Her boots would have been shed back at the door after she was done with the chickens, all so she could come back into the bed when the clock struck nine. Every morning ever since we'd been together she would do this. I would feel her soft, warm breath on my cheek before her lips pressed against the corner of my mouth. I can't even remember the last time I had a bad wake up.
Afternoons would be devoted to chores in the house, errands in town, deals with neighbors, or just messing something up so we'd have something to do. Our closest neighbor was a five minute walk. My wife never liked the place, claiming it reminded her too much of where she grew up. I wasn't overly fond of it myself: I much rather would have liked a big apartment complex in a big city with big buildings. But the rent was cheap, the people were good, and the independence was liberating. We had both made sacrifices to live the comfortable life we lived, we both knew it and regretted some things. But we were together, and we were happy; so what more did we need?
Dinner was served around the same time every night. It wasn't that this was a rule, but it always happened that we would be done with the days activities around that time. I didn't mind it. Life had been so crazy so far, so a little uniformity wasn't the worst thing in the world. Nuts, I know, but it's true. I usually didn't ask what was in the dinner. We were barely living above the poverty cut off, so if there were unorthodox ingredients in my food, it was best not to ask. I wasn't sick or dying, so there was no reason for me to know. Our boy loved making a game of trying to guess what the dinner was made up of. Not that his mother would ever tell him. She was just give him a half smile as he rattled off the names of the very few foods he knew. Sometimes he would just stare at his bowl in deep concentration, trying to pick off foods he recognized in the soup, stew or casserole.
"Mama," He had mused one night. "You're the same color as my soup."
I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth, I half expected her to leave the room. She didn't, though, she just laughed at him.
"Well, I can see you get your need to point out the obvious from your father." She grinned at me as I smirked.
"It's pea soup, bug." I told him. He made a face. "No, not that kind." I added.
From then on he assumed any food that had a similar green hue as his mother was a pea. Fresh artichokes. Peas. Tossed salad. Pea salad. His mother swore that it was my genes that made the boy refuse to give up this idea that everything was called a pea. I don't know about that; but I would take pride in the genes that got him to tell us that peas were his new favorite food and green his favorite color. Obviously what worked for the father works for the son, because whenever he would request pea soup, she would make it the next night. She usually caved into whatever request he had, though. It was like she was trying to make up for the life she had wanted to give him. That we had wanted to give him. The only request she refused to give in to was him accompanying her on her nightly walks.
I wasn't even allowed to go with her. I don't know where she went, I don't know what she did, and I don't know how long it lasted. I just knew that she left when the sun was completely gone and was back within two hours, just before our son was dead asleep. To kiss him goodnight. It'd been like that for the past four years. I guess I probably should have worried like a normal person. But I trusted her. She wouldn't do anything to compromise our union. She wouldn't do anything to get us shunned from this town. And she would always come back.
Until last night.
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