Thanks to NEKNEERAJ for hosting Photo Challenge.
“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.
Mandibelle16 
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