AN:Yay... It's me again xD Don't ask me how I came to writing this, I have no idea. Well, an idea, but... can it come from reading too much Stephen King? Dunno, probably not. But then... Do you know "Carrie"? Whatever. This was German originally, so don't wonder if it's all wrong and sounding weird - my translations tend to do that, sorry. I tried. Btw, there might be some hints of Gelphie, but I don't think they're too much even for those of you who don't like that, but that's your choice.
Disclaimer: It's all mine. Don't you see that? I feel like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Don't know what he says in English, though... Meiiin Schatzzzz... Well, you know, right? The problem is, I just had a vision of Gregory Maguire. He looked like Frodo, and he stole it from me. I guess that means it's not mine at all. Crap.
Story: Seven years have passed since Elphie was murdered, and each year pulls a little more of Glinda's mind over to insanity. Until she finally gives in...
Glinda the Good stood at the door leading to her balcony. Her gaze lay on the world outside the palace which seemed like an island of calm, trapped in the midst of chaos. Here the screams of the Ozians seemed to silence, they were not real, not audible. She wanted them to scream, panicking, in deadly terror, but she did not want to hear their voices. There was only one voice she wanted to hear anymore now, and it was quiet... so quiet... barely audible. But Glinda felt the promise it held, the temptation, and now, that she had fulfilled her work, she could follow the soft invitation. Come, Glinda... There is nothing to hold you here anymore... Come to me, to the place where you belong, make your existance useful again... Come now!
A shudder ran down the good Witch's spine as she lay the blinking blade on her wrist. She smile. Yes, Elphie... I'm coming. A lonely tear of blood was drawn and, as if in slow motion, dripped on the floor while Glinda fascinatedly watched its way. Red, red as the blood of her Elphie, red as that of the Ozians. They had the same color, Elphie, too, and it didn't mean anything, because all of them would die, sooner or later all of them were dead, some sooner than others and she herself would be the first and she knew that this drop of blood wouldn't be the last one, that many others would follow, her blood and that of all the others, who had not understood her Elphie, who had tortured her. Now they had to pay.
I have missed you, Elphie, thought Glinda before she dug the blade into her wrist with a silent cry.
It was the day Glinda hated and feared the most, and each passing year made it worse. Time cures all wounds. She had told herself this sentence like a mantra over the past years, hoping that one day she might be able to believe it. But she didn't. Each day, each second was another stab with a knife, another turning of the blade in always the same wound, and instead of healing her, Time seemed to enjoy her pain, to revel in her sorrow. Every day she could feel another small part of her mind being pulled into insanity, and every day she cared less. Her heart was as good as dead already anyway, it just had the little spark of energy needed to keep its sputtering beat and keep Glinda alive. But Glinda had stopped setting value on that spark years ago.
Seven years had gone by since her Elphie had left her, sweeped out of her life by a bucket of water, and her own heart had been dragged along by the floods. With lifeless eyes the good Witch studied the note in her hand. Once more she read the words of her well-prepared speech. Every year at the day of her Elphie's death she spoke to the people of Oz, but never before had she chosen her words as carefully as this year. It would be tha last address to her dull, disgusting people of murderers, and it was perfect. It had to be. Perfect like Elphie... and perfect for Elphie.
With calm and certain steps she acceded the balcony. The long, light blue dress she wore was the same as every year, but this time the memory did not hurt. This time it was a promise. For Elphie. For the first time in seven years a real smile grazed her features as she watched the crowd, which seemed to extend to all eternity. Happy, merry faces, all looking at her. Some of them painted green, to mock the Witch. They didn't have the right to do that.
„My dear fellow Ozians," she began and waited until the cheers had died down. The voices shrill, loud, unnatural. Glinda, come to me... Her pulse sped up. Soon, she thought. Soon.
Smiling, she continued. „This is a day of rage." Their faces distorted, transformed into one large, confused mask. Glinda felt hate, long suppressed, rise within her. „It's a day of expiation … a day of vengeance. Seven years passed by since an innocent found her death through the hand of a spoiled brat. Seven years since the cruel murder of an innocent!"
Fear. Fear on their faces. Good. First signes of panic. This was very good. They stood paralyzed, hanging on her lips whose smile seemed cruelly disformed now. Her voice was cheerful, like every year. She hadn't been able to break that habit, but she liked the preposterous effect that arose from it.
„All of you knew about the murder. You were co-perpetrators, perpetrators, you wanted it. Who of you raised their voices to protest as Elphie was hit by the first drop of water?"
Elphie. Just Elphie. Nobody else. And now murdered, gone, dead... „No one. You did not know her. You seeked the life of a stranger, and another stranger granted your wish. Murderer. Each one of you is a murderer, each man, each woman, each child."
No Animals in the crowd. They never came. They were good. Elphie had liked them, and they had helped her and she them. But they were not here, and hadn't been the years before. They didn't want to celebrate Elphie's death. But they should have come, every year, to protest against the lies. They had never come. They had to be punished, too.
„Seven years no plaint, no one, to judge the offenders! But doesn't the law demand a punishment for murderers? Each one of you cares for justice – as long as it doesn't turn against you. But this murder has to be venged, too, and the day of repentance for you, my dear fellows, has come today."
Rage. Rage within her, everywhere. Hate. Flowing from her, a fountain never running dry. Everywhere. She felt a tremble of the earth. Shaking. Only the palace calm, she needed it, Island of Calm. Here it was to stop.
Shocked screams were heard as the first houses showed fractures. The crowd tried to get closer to one another, but there was barely space left, and the underground's shaking made it hard to keep one's balance. High above them Glinda stood on her balcony and held her speech.
„Today I am your judge, Ozians, and justice will be satisfied."
A small cottage collapsed. Babies cried. The screams hurt her ears. Glinda... come. Wait for me, Elphie. I won't take long anymore.
„I am your judge, but you will be the tools of justice."
She felt the hate, the rage. How they streamed out of her, into the souls of her subjects, the hate against them all, now within them as well. Justice. And the fountin continued to gush.
She felt nothing as she watched her fellow Ozians looking at each other, hesitantly, as if they didn't know what to do anymore. She could feel the rage, the ungovernable hate against each other, against themselves, and Glinda knew that it would only take a few more minutes before they would rip into each other. She looked down and didn't feel satisfaction. As soon as she was gone the rage would vanish, for it was her rage, not that of the Ozians. Too many would get away unharmed, too many would survive. Too many would never atone for Elphie's death. I won't have it, Elphie. They will all pay for what they did to you... all.
Her smile vanished, and what was left from her heart turned to ice. For minutes she merely stood there and watched as the streets turned into chaos. Screaming, screeching people, slashing at one another. Children laying their hands around their parents' and siblings' necks. And the earth still quaked, and the houses got fractures and broke.
And then she knew what she wanted to do. She closed her eyes and started muttering, words she had never heard before, but whose meaning she knew as if her whole life had catered to speaking those words, which came to her so effortless now like other words had come to her Elphie, which just as much power. When she had been alive still. Oh Elphie...
Her voice rose with each moment, and the last words of the spell were screamed in a mad, cracking voice, but they drowned in the deathly noise of the crowd beneath her. I have done it, Elphie. They are all going to regret it, the moment my heart stops beating they are going to regret it, but then it will be too late, because their hearts will be still as well. Still. They are so loud now, Elphie, I can hear their cries, can you, too? They deserve it, Elphie, but … they're so loud … I think I will go inside now, Elphie, so I don't have to hear them anymore. I only want to hear you... I'm going to you.
The blood didn't drip anymore. It flowed from her wrists in bright red fluency, and Glinda watched how it transported the life out of her and in the end took the lifes of the Ozians with it as well, swept it away like the water had swept Elphie's life away.
Blackness moved toward her from the edges of her vision and replaced the redness of the blood. And then she saw light, light that engulfed her, and she knew that it was over. She let go.
Elphie, she thought, Elphie, I'm coming, now I'm coming to you, I'm nearly there … but, Elphie, where are you? The light around her seemed to disappear again, drawing back, growing darker. Elphie was nowhere to find, and that unsettled Glinda. Her voice had gone silent, too. Elphie … ? Silence. She got no answer. The light around her vanished completely, and finally the eclipse was absolute.
And Glinda the Good did not feel anymore.
AN That's it. Don't tell me I'm insane, I know that already. But you could click that well-known button and tell me something else, perhaps?