Fiction: Dottie and the City of Oz (Part 5) #amwritingfiction


Credit: Bruno via Unsplash


Fire in the sky, fire in the mountains grey with speckled trees; fire neared the field’s of grain. Dorothy squealed as they skipped closer to a gated city of emerald jewels and verdant brick. A knocker lay against the door and Dorothy jumped as the Tin-man lifted rapped on the gate three times.

“Who’s there?” A man dressed in armor in a kelly green helmet peeked through the door.

Dorothy approached. “Good afternoon. We’re here to see the magician — your magic man. The four of us have been travelling a far way and need help to end the fires caused by the wicked witches across the land’s of Oz.”

Chloe the lab pup lay against Dorothy, her head buried in the girl’s’s shoulder. Dorothy turned towards the guard. “Please sir let us in.” The Tin-man and Straw-man stood beside her in solidarity.

The Tin-man leaned against his ax. “We’d be grateful; we know we can aid everyone in ending the fires.” The Straw-man and Lion-man crossed their arms attempting to appear serious.

The guard lifted the visor on his helmet. “Well, we’ve had a lot of refugees with the fires. But, the magician has men out fighting the blaze and keeping it from consuming the city — razing the fields. Tell me more about why you seek our magic man?”

Dorothy stretched her arms and Chloe slid to the ground; she pointed to her ruby shoes. “Well you see, these are the first wicked witch’s shoes; my house fell on her. Both witches started the fires and I need these shoes off to go home.”

“We require the remaining witch’s broom to end the fires.” She spread her arm out towards her companions. “These are my friends, they need help too — a heart for the Tin-man, intelligence for the Straw-man, and courage for the Lion-man. Chloe, my dog and myself (Dottie), need to return to a place called Kansas.”

The guard (gatekeeper) twirled his bottle green beard. “I can let you in. There’s a long line-up to see the magician. A lot of people need his help; especially, with the fires destroying livelihoods and enslavement due to the witch’s. It’s not going to be easy to see the great magician, few do.”

Then, the gates opened with a boom. Dust rose and Dorothy and her friends entered. Chloe bounced around their knees and greeted the guards inside the city gate. As they meandered they were overwhelmed with the amount of people inside. Some wore all green, and some wore clothing in charred red or yellow, depending from where they originated.

The straw-man decided to halt for a rest. He leaned against a stone-wall, arms crossed and hand under his rosy cheek.”So, where to do we find this magician?”

“They’re posters along the city walls. A lady back there said to head to the centre of the the city, that we couldn’t miss the magician’s black building.” The Tin-man gazed around the bustling city’s where people of all kinds shopped and chatted. “Let’s keep going. Oil my joints first, would you, Dottie?”

Dorothy aided the Tin-man. She regarded Chloe as she plodded along, yawning in sleepiness. The journey was a lot for a puppy, even a growing Labrador. Her companions were sleepy too. “Perhaps we all need to find an inn first? Then, we can continue after food and rest.”

“Good idea, Dottie; my paws ache.” The lion-man yawned roar-like. “After, we can get courage and whatever else from the magic man.”

Hours later Dorothy skipped towards the city centre with her friends, noting the jewelled emerald stones in the city walls as sunlight bounced off them. Oz had a unique green-hued beauty and the people were kind and welcoming. The city’s ambience of ingenuity was diverse from the surrealism outside its walls.

She straightened her red bow, and patted chestnut curls half-dry from a recent bath. “Okay boys, let’s find us the great magician.”

They followed a path marked by many white and lime-green posters advertising the magician’s ‘awesome’ power. The posters led to a gleaming onyx building with open doors. The group joined a line to meet the mysterious magician.

“I hope he’s a good magician,”Dorothy mused. She bent to scratch Chloe’s ears.

“Oh he is, I’m certain.” The straw-man squeezed Dorothy’s hands. “They’re tales far and wide of his talent. He’s not evil; in fact, he’s infinitely good.”

“I hope so.” The Lion-man shook and quivered.

Noticing his constant fear, the Tin-man patted the lion’s back. “You don’t have to be anxious here, we’re safe now. The fire fighters keep the smoke away from the city, along with the magic fighters. You’ll get your courage soon.”

Still, the Lion-man shook and Dorothy tapped her chin in thought. “I think the Lion-man can’t help his anxiety or fear.” She turned towards him. “Am I right?” He nodded, head hidden in his neck.

Dorothy twisted to face her other friends. “Some people are afraid of the unknown, and even the everyday. I don’t think the Lion-man can stop his anxiety. I imagine having his home destroyed like the Tin-man hasn’t helped.”

The Tin-man nodded. “You’re right, for some creatures the loss of home, their livelihood, and especially, freedom causes trauma. I’ve met many people who’re anxious and sad, a permanent sickness they deal with on-top of everyday troubles and responsibilities.”

He patted the lion-man’s arm. “I’ll remember you need understanding and remind the Straw-man too. I’m a happy-go-lucky guy, but I can’t sympathize with others to well due to my lack of heart.”

The Straw-man patted the Lion-man too. Bits of straw stuck to his fur. “I can’t often think as others, but I’ll remember to reassure too.”

“I appreciate that.” The lion-bowed. His quivering ceased and he peered ahead of them.

The line inside the magician’s castle had lessened and they we’re almost at reception. “Look we’re next to be helped.” The Lion-man pointed ahead.

Dorothy smiled at her three friends and petted Chloe. She approached the receptionist feeling out of place in her dirty blue and white dress.

The receptionist wore a shiny emerald jumpsuit. She chewed a wad of gum and peered at Dorothy with bored moss eyes. “Names?”

“Dottie, Tin-man, Straw-man, and Lion-man.”

The receptionist tapped long nails against her lips. “Hmmm, it’s going to be awhile. I’d sit and get comfy if I were you.” The receptionist pointed to the start of another long line where people sat, stood, and chattered.

Chloe plodded in-front of Dorothy, hair on end. She growled in protection and the receptionist stepped back.

Dorothy marched forward. “Listen lady, we need to see the magic man as it’s imperative to ending the fires. We’re tasked with defeating the last wicked witch. The magician — whoever he is — needs our help to end the carnage. Not to mention, we’ve personal problem’s to be solved to aid everyone in Oz and beyond.”

The woman smirked. “As I said, take a seat over there where the new line starts.” The hard black floor waited for the four of companions and Chloe. Dorothy groaned inwardly, but noted the receptionist’s name tag.

“Wilma, we need to see the magician now.” She glared at the woman and pointed to her ruby shoes.

Wilma’s moss eyes widened. “Those were the first witches. Everyone knows those shoes. How’d you get them?”

“Gertrude the good fairy (witch) fastened them on my feet and they’re stuck. I need them unfastened. I also need to kill the remaining witch and retrieve her broom. Understand now ?”

Wilma pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. She left her booth and her heels clicked against the floor. She disappeared behind a large silk-blue curtain and a door slammed.

Ten-minutes later she returned to reception nibbling het manicured nails and rubbing her arms. “This never happens, but you can follow me to meet the great magician. He never gives out-of-turn appointments, so I would make your point quick.”

Dorothy smiled at Wilma in thanks and turned to her companions. “Ready?” They followed the receptionist behind the silk curtain.

As they walked, Dorothy closed her eyes. “I wish this whole thing wasn’t so weird. I wish I was home. There’s so much way to go to get there.” She squeaked, she hadn’t met to say those words aloud (beneath her breath at most).

The Lion-man patted her head. “Soon Dottie, soon. We’ll fly away home on eagles wings soon.”

“You think?”

The lion patted her once more. “We’ll get through this. As you told me, we can’t help but be scared, but in the end we’ll conquer despite fear.

Dorothy grinned; they walked on following Wilma through a door and up an ominous staircase. Here goes nothing!

(Thanks to Frank L. Baum, The Wizard of Oz).


©️Amanda_ME. (2020) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction: Dorothy – Three Is Company (Part 4) #amwritingpoetry


Credit: Benjamin DeYoung via Unsplash.

Dorothy heard a creak as lightening. A twisting of metal and a groan. She peered at the straw-man. “What was that?”

“It came from over there?”

“Where, by the copse of trees?”

Dorothy crossed the cobbled yellow road. Her feet ached. Whatever she did, the ruby shoes wouldn’t come off. “Chloe, it’s too much. I want these gone.” Her ever-growing black lab bounced beside her.

The straw-man chuckled and they peered over to where a tin-man stood. He squeaked his limbs and joints, maneuvered the muscles in his face attempting to move his fixed joints.

“Hey, you girl? You wouldn’t mind oiling my joints and muscles, maybe my facial muscles too?”

Dorothy quirked her head. “I suppose I could. How’d you get stuck like that?” Chloe sniffed at the the tin-man, and growled. When he shifted the lab yipped.

The straw-man leaned towards Dorothy. “Might as well give it a shot, Dottie.” He stood with hands on hay-filled hips. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Dorothy oiled the tin-man’s elbows, his knees, his ankles, wrists, fingers, neck, and facial features.

As she worked she observed his computer was humanesque, but covered with a shiny exterior; his face as tin-foil rolled flat over each feature. When she knocked on his leg, the hollow metal echoed and she giggled.

The tin-man peered at Dorothy, as she stepped back all finished. He stretched his limbs around the copse. “This’s wonderful. That rain storm caught me off guard. Didn’t help the fires as I thought it would.”

He wrinkled his silver nose and bent his arms. He bent his legs this way and that until all the squeaks disappeared from his joints. Chloe leaped to catch a stick he threw her way. She returned it dutifully.

The scarecrow stood, his eyes thoughtful. “What brought you here anyways?“

“Same as many I suppose, running from the fires. My cottage burnt; I left and kept walking. The dense smoke was everywhere and then out of the sky, the rain fell. It caused a lot of haze but not much else, the fire’s still out of control. Everything grew smoggy and black. After my body rusted until I was stuck.”

“Oh my,” said Dorothy. “Thats terrible. It’s dry as dust and the smoke hangs in the air as a veil, everywhere; what isn’t burning is ashes.” She glanced behind her to the smog filled skies. “Cinder and ashes everywhere, people like you left with nothing.”

“It’s no picnic. But, all we can do is keep moving.” The tin-man lifted his oil can. “Where are you three-headed?”

“We’re trying to kill the last wicked witch and steal her broom. The first witch and her sister caused these fires. I’m Dottie, and this is straw-man.” The scarecrow bowed.

“You’ve met my lab Chloe.” The dog leaned against the tin-man on both legs, happy to have her neck scratched.

The tin-man bowed to Dorothy and the Strawman. “Nice to meet you I’m Jack. But tin-man is what everyone calls me. I was cursed, turned into a man of metal. They stole my heart mind you, my chest is hollow. Although, I’m happy despite.” He grinned teeth glistening.

The straw-man circled the tin-man, mouth open in awe. “Well, you look well for being cursed. It doesn’t surprise me you’re missing your heart. I’ve brains to think things through. Although, I’m completely made of hay. No curse, but my stuffing falls out.”

The two men chatted and Dorothy straightened her dress and fixed her hair. She pulled out a tiny bowl and fed Chloe chicken.

In an instant, a half-man, half-lion pounced from the haze of smoke and advanced towards them. “ Excuse me. How’s it going?” The lion-man roared.

Everyone lept backwards. Chloe yipped and hid behind Dorothy. Then, the lion-man peeked from behind a tree. Dorothy hid behind an opposite one. The straw-man and tin-man approached the lion steps cautious. “Where’d you come from?”

“The forest in the distance.” He pointed to the far left. “The ash heights, aptly named.”

The lion shivered. “I almost died of smoke inhalation.” He looked at his fur-hands covered in soot, shaking his mane.

“What’s that?” The lion cowered as Chloe barked in her face. Her woof had deepened on the trip.

Dorothy studied the lion-man. He wasn’t exactly, a lion and not exactly a human. More man than beast though. The tin-man stood in front of her. He guarded Dorothy with an ax (usually) hung from his belt.

“I’m Dottie.” She stuttered. “This is tin-man and straw-man. You’re a lion?”

“Of sorts. I’m trying to find a new home. You’re sleek creature frightened me.”

“That’s Chloe. She’s a dog. Just a pup. Don’t be afraid. Her bark is bigger than her bite. And I’m sure your bite is bigger. “

The lion-man grinned. His pointed incisors gleamed. “You’d think so, but my teeth aren’t that big, nor my sense of bravo. I’m afraid of everything.”

Dorothy did the tin-man chuckled. “It’s okay, we’ve all got things missing too.” The straw-man lifted his arms dropping straw bits. I’m made of straws, but I’ve no brains. We recently met the tin-man. He’s a real man covered in tin, but without a beating heart. Dottie here and Chloe, need to go home.”

The tin-man grinned. “Yep, need to find myself a tin lady. But, need a heart to do it.”

Dorothy hopped backwards and Chloe hid near. “Oh, well Gertrude (the good fairy) did say I’d make friends, good one’s along the way. Tin-man and lion, would you come? Be friends with us too?”

She nodded towards them. “As I told tin-man we’re off to get the second wicked witches broom and kill the old bat; she started the fires.”

Dorothy clapped her hands. “Oh, and there’s a wizard-magician too who might help, the straw-man said.”

The straw-man walked in thoughtful circles. “He’s in the city, the green one ahead. I think he can help us get the broom, and my brains. Maybe the lion-man’s sense of courage and the tin-man’s heart too?”

The tin-man and lion-man agreed with her and smiled. The lion pursed his mouth. “Okay. I’m in. Let’s get going though, the black smokes rising and coming nearer.”

Dorothy peered around. “I can’t get over how eerie and unreal this place feels. Was it always this way?”

The three men looked at each other. “It’s how it is here of late. The witches made it so. It’s improved I think, despite the fire.” The tin-man leaned against his ax.

“Sounds about right. Maybe killing the second will end it? Make the lands of Oz real, end the fires?”

The straw-man’s mouth curved. “Ah, the magician. He has forces enough to end it. Firefighters, and magic enforcers too. We need to find him first.”

“All right then. All agreed?” They nodded at the straw-man.

They hooked arms with Dorothy, the bleakness forever at their backs. Chloe ran in front of them oblivious.

Dorothy pondered if in a world where nothing was as it seems, could they all receive what they needed ? Or, would this emptiness, the hollow feeling of the Oz lands ever let up, witch or no witch?

She smiled pretty anyways and they marched towards the city of the great magician. Who knew what he was like.

(Thanks again from Frank L.Baum, The Wizard of Oz.)


©️Amanda_ME. (2020)All Rights Reserved. 
Continue reading Fiction: Dorothy – Three Is Company (Part 4) #amwritingpoetry

Fiction: Dottie Moves On — The Straw-man Part 3 #amwritingfiction


Credit: Lindsey LaMont via Unsplash.


Acrid ash gathered on the yellow brick road, fat and in voluminous piles from caramel skies. Dorothy’s eyes’ teared.

“Hey you, girl, girl over here.” She jumped. A man made of straw hung from a wooden dowel; he waved.

The straw-man’s face wrinkled when he smiled and his eyes lit a sapphire-blue. “Hello, not to be rude, but can you please let me down? The fire’s are too close. I don’t wan’t to burn with the corn.”

Chloe, Dorothy’s lab pup, barked and shimmed beneath the fence. Dorothy climbed overtop, candy-red shoes catching on the rungs. She stumbled amongst the corn until she reached the straw-man.

Far behind Dorothy the sky was red and smoke-black. The pungent aroma touched everywhere, and Dorothy’s hair, clothes, and Chloe’s fur stunk of it. At least Dorothy had grown somewhat used to it.

She brushed the ash off her dress and Chloe’s sleek coat.The dog ran to sniff at the straw-man who waved awkward arms and legs at Chloe and Dorothy.

“Hello there. I’m Dottie, short for Dorothy. My lab’s Chloe. Who put you there anyways? Where I come from scarecrows aren’t alive.”

The straw-man chuckled and flung bits of hay as he talked and waved his arms. “Well, I don’t know why I’m alive. Some of us are, some of us aren’t. I send the crows away, those exasperating things. But, I get sick of hanging here; mostly, I’m afraid of the fires.”

“Here let me help.” Dorothy stretched herself on tippy-toes and with both arms lifted the scarecrow off his peg. Her shoulders and arms ached and the straw-man fell onto the ground. Chloe bounced and wagged her tail and the straw-man reached to pet her with misshapen fingers.

Dorothy laughed. “She likes you. Chloe doesn’t like everyone. Here, you’re missing much of your straw.” She aided the straw-man until he stood. Together they put his body back together with straw.

She poured water into a little bowl for Chloe, then peered at the straw-man. “What shall I call you?” The scarecrow chortled. “I’ve no idea. We don’t think well, us scarecrows. No brains. But maybe one day. Straw-man a fine name, Dottie.”

Dorothy tapped her finger against her lips. “Well I’m on my way to kill the second wicked witch, Straw-man. My house killed the first, but they’re both responsible for the fires. They’re destroying homes and livelihoods for slave labor. If I do it, Gertrude (a good fairy) says I can go home and get these awful red shoes off my feet.” She peered at them with distaste.

The scarecrow blinked. “Unbelievable! Perhaps, if I accompany you I might find someone to help me too, along the way? So I can learn and think as most creatures here do?”

Dorothy nodded stretching her arms behind her. “Well, today I met you, and Gertrude told me I wouldn’t be alone on my journey. Perhaps, we shall meet other creatures too?”

The scarecrow grinned his mouth an orange-red slash. “Let’s hope so, then we shall both solve our issues, with Chloe too of course.” The pup bounced circles ’round the pair.’

Dorothy climbed over the fence and the scarecrow took her hand; she stood to aid him. The smoke grew thicker, and Dorothy coughed. Ash flew in the air as snow.

Grabbing Chloe’s empty water bowl she put it away. She drank water from a bottle in her basket and offered the scarecrow a sip. “Don’t need that but thanks. So, how do we kill this witch?”

Dorothy shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But, we need her broom.”

“Well, there’s this guy I know.”

“Okay?”

“He’s a powerful man of sorts. I heard of him, he might help.”

“What’s his name?” Dorothy squeaked.

“Well, he’s a magician of sorts. I’ve heard stories. Perhaps, if we follow the yellow road to Oz, we’ll find him there?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dorothy was aware that although she was no longer alone, the light wasn’t right in Oz nor was it with Gertrude. Even the chroma of the fire was wrong.

Here the corn was too perfect and the birds were too bright a blue or shiny a black. The lands of Oz were surreal with a quality she couldn’t place.

Nevertheless, Dorothy smiled at the scarecrow. What else could she do?

“To Oz then, Dottie?” The straw-man patted himself fixing his attire.

She nodded than looked behind at Chloe to pass her fingers through the lab’s fur. “It’ll turn out.”

They continued past the field of corn. A feeling of unease prevailed throughout Dorothy’s body; especially, due to the gathering snow-like ash and wicked-red fire. In front, as ever, lay the winding amber of the yellow brick road.

(With regards to Frank L. Baum, The Wizard of Oz)


©️Amanda_ME. (2020) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction: Dorothy – The Beginning #amwritingfiction


Credit: Saatchi Art by Simone Kilworth


The storm was a wicked one. Dorothy’s Aunt’s house creaked, and the windows clattered; her feet slipped. She flew backwards onto her bed. Her head banged against the headboard.

A dull throbbing pierced Dorothy’s temple and she whimpered. Beneath her, the house tilted, and wobbled in flight. Was this really happening?

She called for Chloe her Labrador puppy; her vision faded to black. When she awoke a peculiar brightness assaulted her from the bedroom window. She attempted to comb out her hair.

“Chloe, where’s this? Where are we?” The lab yipped.

She peered into the dresser mirror, surprised to find blood on her fingertips.

“Just a scratch I guess.” A small slash lay by her left ear.

She turned to the window and squinted against the lush green leaves and opulent flowers. Water trickled a brilliant blue in a pond nearby. She left her bedroom and opened the front door. The sun glared and the peculiar scenery didn’t sit right with her.

She gazed around realizing she was alone with Chloe in the house.

“I’ve never seen nature so strange, as if it’s fake. What do you think, Chloe?” The dog peered at her with chocolate eyes and licked her hand. She ran to lap at the water in the blue pond.

She sighed and opened the door; a pair of sparkling red slippers sat before her.

She studied her stockinged feet, somehow having lost her worn shoes. Dorothy tapped her chin and and decide to try the shoes on. As she did a jolt ran through her and she shuddered as the shock fastened the shoes to her feet. “Eek.”

She sat on the front step desperate to remove them but they wouldn’t come off.

She wiped at a tear and gasped to feel a bow in her chestnut hair, the same hue as her shoes. The sparkling color reflected in a window nearby. She combed her fingers through her hair uneasy.

“Oh my Chloe. I don’t want to wear these forever?” Both shoes and bow were fastened too tightly to remove.

She peered again at the brilliant opulence around her. A perfect little city with ultra-bright vegetation.

A shiver ran through her, a premonition. “Where is this anyways?” An aroma of burning trees and brush assaulted her nostrils.

“That’s not a good thing Chloe.” The sleek pup gazed at her and barked. She patted her awhile then watched as he went to the pond to drink.

“Ah yes, the fires.” A tiny fairy appeared beside Dorothy. Chloe barked, fur standing on end, but wouldn’t step closer. At least, Dorothy assumed the creature was a fairy; she’d only read stories of them.

The fairy sat on her skirt. “Dorothy? I’m Gertrude.” She bowed.

“Dottie is fine,” Dorothy sputtered.

“Okay, then. Dottie you’ve our thanks. Your house fell on one of the wicked witches.”

“A real witch?”

“Yes, of course.” The fairy crossed her arms. “You missed the second witch though. Miscalculation there. But, you do have her sisters shoes on — that’ll help you get the sister.”

“I want the shoes off please; they’re very tight.”

“Shouldn’t have put them on in the first place.”

Dorothy gasped. She wanted to flick the little sprite away. “Are you a good witch then. Or, a fairy?”

“A witch of sorts. Better than the one you killed and her evil sister. They both started to fire, trying to smoke us out of our homes into slavery.”

“So, you need me to kill this other witch too? I’m not good with that. Killing the first was an accident, I think.”

Gertrude laughed. “Of course, you need to kill her silly. It’s your only way home.”

“No one else can?”

“Just you I’m afraid.” Gertrude sat and stretched.

“There’s the fires too. The remaining sister is still burning Oz and it’s surrounding lands. She’s more powerful I’m afraid.”

“I see. I’m only a small girl though. What can I do?”

Gertrude tittered again. “Not that small. Besides there’s only one left. You’ll need her broom too I think, to get home I mean.”

Dorothy eyes widened. “This is much to much for me .” Chloe sniffed at the fairy and growled. Gertrude rapped her nose with the wand and the lab yawned and curled into sleep.

The tiny witch turned to Dorothy, “Dottie, you’ve little power for a witch killer, much less than most. Shouldn’t have put on the shoes if you didn’t want the job, I say.”

“I don’t. . . ”

Gertrude interrupted. “You’re not alone, Dottie. It will work out. You’ll have help; I promise.”

“Help?”

“Friends along the way.”

“Are you sure I can do this?”

“Yes, Dottie. Now, you and your furry friend better hurry. Merely follow the yellow road. It’s everywhere. It will take you where you need to go.”

Dorothy arose from her the door of her Aunt’s house. She closed it and called Chloe to her. The scent of smoke made her cough periodically.

Gertrude flew above her and tapped her wand on Dottie’s forehead. “A little blessing to help you along the way. You’re gonna need it.”With that the fairy disappeared.

Chloe barked at her as she faded into the blaring sunlight. Dorothy hesitated, but having nothing else to do followed the winding road with bricks as yellow as amber.

“Here we go Chloe.” The dog bounded in front of her, not fearing what was ahead, but Dorothy did.

(With thanks to Frank L. Baum, The Wizard of Oz.)


©️AmandaME. (2020) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Fiction — No Place Like Home #amwritingfiction


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ for hosting Photo Challenge.


Credit: Araki Photography School


“I’m exhausted,” Dorothy yawns her arms cover her braids and smudged face. The yellow brick road stretches on forever. At some places it crumbles, at others it’s pristine. She drops her arms and opens her eyes.

To her right a man of straw stumbles, to her left a man of tin creeks. They used to sing and sing until the situation turned dim; the lion-man roars behind her on occasion.

Dorothy covers her ears, rouged lips thinning. They match her sparkling hair bow, and the ruby slippers. Her feet throb. Why did she ever put them on?

In the far distance part of the oz forest burns. Smoke hangs in the air and she stomps her heel, arms covering her face once more.

The tin-man tilts his lips,” To much for you, Dottie?”

“Everything. Too much song and dance. Too much destruction. It was once a happy place; now it’s hollow. I never thought it could be this bad.”

The straw-man shuffles near, “We’ll get through it. This road can’t go on forever.”

“But, the smoke, the fire, that green-faced witch; these shoes killing my feet.”

“Hush now,” the tin man murmurs. He adjusts his hat and removes his oil can. “My knees need a tune-up. We can rest in the brush.”

Dorothy frowns,” Brush? They’ll be none left in fifteen minutes, better be quick.”

The lion-man cringes as the forest behind them singes. “All those creatures, they’ve lost their homes; it’s not fair.”

“We tried our best, and didn’t know the wicked witch would destroy so many lives to stop us. All we need is her broom, then we can all go home.” She runs a hand through the lion-man’s mane. Her other hand pats the straw-man’s back.

He peers at the sky,” Better keep moving, I don’t want to catch fire; there’s no water for miles”

Dorothy understands. She peers at the grey-smoke above and flinches. She quivers as the cries of winged monkeys echo; acrid smoke has her choking.

She closes her eyes, clicks her heels, if only to avoid her worst fears. “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” She opens her eyes. Nothing has changed. The yellow brick road leads on and the fire blocks the road behind.

“It was worth a try, Dottie.” The tin-man nods and flexes his knees. “Good enough, let’s get this cursed broom.”

Dorothy grits her teeth. They plod off, flying monkey’s at their back. No more skipping or singing; the situation’s dire. She smiles a moment, Kansas a memory she dare not forget.


©️ 2020. Amanda_ME. All Rights Reserved.

Sully Award Entry: One Step Too Far for Modern Art #amwriting #fiction 


I wrote this last year for FFftAW and it’s my piece of Flash Fiction with the most likes ever. It’s a strange story, maybe that’s why? Anyways, I’m entering it for a 200 Word or Less Writing Contest on Hey Look Writer Fellow’s Sully Award Competition. It’s open until March 28, 2017 and the rules are in the link above. Thanks to Michael for sharing the contest, visit Michael’s awesome blog Morpethroad HERE. 

——–

Credit: S Writings


“Look at those cows, incredible,” Dorothy said.

“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artist’s ‘thing?’ Dorothy’s husband, Stanley, asked a gallery employee.

“Hi, I’m Theresa,” the woman said. ” How do you like The Moo Gallery? Isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? I’m not sure why she chose cows but I adore how every cow is a unique work of art, don’t you?”

“Shaunda is ridiculously talented. Painting plastic cows, she’s brilliant,” Dorothy declared.

“Cows? Really? Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?” Stanley asked.

Theresa smile was unnatural, “You’re right,” she said nodding at Dorothy. “Cows are Shaunda’s specialty. In fact, these cows were once alive. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic, a fabulous example of Modern Art. Each cow sells for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated and she gazed at Stanley alarmed. He simply shook his head at her and smiled because he’d known all along Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted a sales pitch again but he held up his hand to stop her.

“ Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. Manet was an authentic artist, he was also my Great-Great-Great Grandfather.”


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Mountain’s Wrath” #amwriting #poetry 


Thank you to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s double prompt:

Laura Bloomsbury

———

Black and white can change, 

Become the most flaming bright of —

Colours; yet we’re like —

Dorothy on her Kansas —

Farm, not realizing life is grey. 

Never seeing technicolor.

——–

If mountains are but smoke, 

No one who said those words knew, 

How burning orange and —

Yellow looks when your skin is —

Seared; the mountain spit lava clear.

Blew her top, melted downwards. 

——-

On to the town who, 

Had little idea but should —

Have known this day, 

No technology clued.

Their mountain could release Hell,

Sulphurous smelling, burnt Hell.

—-

Poisonous gases, 

Leaking down to the town folk, 

No chance had they when, 

Ashes fell like snow.

The worst kind of snow signals, 

The ire of the mountain’s breath.

——-

In stores, on boardwalks, 

Going about their day the same.

When she erupted, 

No one cared at first.

But the ash and gases came, 

Killing to begin, before —

—–

Lava reached familiar,

Buildings, the library.

Homes, grocery stores, work.

Yet the sky was filled, 

She billowed out her smoke rings, 

And she was just beginning.

——-

Threy should’ve known to —

Leave earlier but no one, 

Takes responsibility;

To late to lay blame.

Run far and fast, lava spews.

Keep going magma flows, kills.

——

No Dante’s Peak is —

This; only mother nature’s, 

Roaring and giving, 

Life as she takes it.

Many die unaware, don’t see, 

Never knew today would be —

The end: waiting done, 

Here comes the promised one near.

Yet some survived it.

Never took lightly, 

Those words: A Mountain is noth –

ing but smoke — they lived through it.

—–

Those who rebuilt knew, 

As the lava and fire burnt their —

Homes, loved ones to crisps. 

Beware the mountain;

Geologists trained don’t know, 

When she’ll yield furious wrath.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reseved 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: An Alternate Universe of the Wizard of Oz.


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Storyteller’s Abode

——–

Dorothy had a wonderful time with the munchkins in their village. She had been celebrated as the killer of the Wicked Witch of the East. The Good Witch Gelinda sent Dorothy down the yellow brick road with the deceased witch’s ruby red slippers adorning Dorothy’s feet. 

The shoes were heels and uncomfortable. Dorothy soon regretted she could not take them off. She was leaning against a fence, resting her feet, when she thought the scarecrow beside her talked.

“What?” Dorothy asked the scarecrow, “Did you say something?”

The scarecrow continued making funny noises which was when Dorothy, a good Catholic, believed the scarecrow was possessed. She decided to burn the scarecrow and the demon out.

Lighting him afire she watched as the scarecrow screeched and fell in the middle of the yellow brick road, blackened hay and cloth all that remained.

Dorothy smiled to herself. Wicked witch of the East, check. Possessed scarecrow, check. Wizard of Oz here I come!

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

MayDays: Flash Fiction – Monsters #Maydays



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http://www.mattforney.com

——

Thank to K.L. Caley of new2writing for #Mayday prompts. Today’s prompt is haunting. Also, thank you to The Daily Prompt for the word prompt Shadow.

——-

“What’s that noise?” Robbin said afraid. “Mom there’s something under my bed?” 

Robbin’s Mom, Dorothy, flicked on the bedside lamp in eight-year-old Robbin’s room. She made a grand show of peering under the bed. 

“Come see Robbin, there’s nothing under your bed. A monster couldn’t fit under there.”

Robbin got out of bed and peaked under his bed. “There’s only a few socks and toys here.” 

“Yep. You can clean those up tomorrow,” Dorothy ordered.” Now it’s time for bed. No more reading. You have school.” 

Robbin nodded and flicked off his lamp hesitantly. He snuggled under the covers which Dorothy had tucked him into. That’s when he heard the scrapping sound and loud inhuman breathing. 

Robbin hid is whole body under his blankets, hoping the monster wouldn’t eat him. 

The monster was in the closet this time and Robbin could see his red eyes through the crack in the closet door. The closet door began to creep open and Robbin screamed. The monster’s shadow was visible on the floor.

Dorothy came running. She was tired and wondered when Robbin would get over his fears of monsters. “What now my love?” 

“The monster is in the closet now.” Robbin stuttered his face wan.

Dorothy opened the closet door, flinging it open to show Robbin nothing was there. “See no monsters,” Dorothy said.

“Mom,” Robbin screamed.

Behind Dorothy a monster was waiting to pounce. His red eyes glaring and giant teeth sharp and dripping with slime. His half-furred, half-reptilian body repulsed Robbin who began to cry and beg, “Don’t eat my Mom.”

Dorothy turned around to look in the closet. “There’s nothing here . . . Ah!” The monster swallowed Robbin’s Mom whole.

Robbin flicked on the lamp light quickly and the monster disappeared. “Mommy . . .” Robbin asked. 

But it was too late. Dorothy should’ve known better. The best way to get rid of monsters is to first turn on the light.

——-

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: One Step too Far for Modern Art


“Look at those cows. They’re incredible.” Dorothy said.

“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artists ‘thing?’ Why has the artist painted all these heavy plastic cows?” Stanley asked an art gallery employee.

“Hi, I’m Theresa. I work here at The Moo Gallery, isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? She painted all these cows. I adore how every cow is a unique work of art. Don’t you?”

“Shaunda Rose is incredibly talented. Who would’ve thought of painting plastic cows? Brilliant woman.” Dorothy declared.

“Cows….” Stanley said shaking his head.”Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?”

Theresa smiled plastically and said: “You’re right, cows are Shaunda’s speciality. In fact, these are ‘actual’ cows Shaunda painted. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then she has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic; a great example of modern art. Each cow sells for several hundred -thousand-dollars.”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated; she felt alarmed.

Stanley shook his head. He knew Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted pitching to Dorothy again but Stanley held up his hand.

“Theresa, Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. And yes, Manet was a Great-Great-Great Grandfather.” 

——

 

S-Writings
 
——

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.