Disclaimer : I don't own Wicked. If I did, I'd be the happiest Fangirl alive.
-:-
No one mourns the Wicked
Glinda the Good stood on a grassy hill overlooking the Emerald City, observing the festivities from afar. Tonight was the first death-day of Elphaba Thropp, better known as the Wicked Witch of the West.
No one cries "They won't return!"
However, Glinda refused to take part in the festivities. What cause did she have to celebrate? Her best friend was gone, struck down by the hatred and lies of that ignorant 'Wizard' and the mindless gullibility of the girl Dorothy. It was because of them that her beloved Elphie was gone. Gone, and never coming back.
No one lays a lily on their grave
So there she stood, crying silently before her green-skinned friends makeshift grave. It was a simple grave, a stone carved with the name Elphaba Thropp and a bottle of green elixir buried in the dirt taking the place of Elphaba's melted body. The grave stood between two others, marked with the names Nessarose Thropp and Fiyero Tiggular, sparkling ruby slippers and a torn guardsman's uniform serving as reminders of their all to brief lives.
The good man scorns the Wicked!
Why? Why did she, ignorant and judgmental Galinda, deserve to be called Good? The title should have gone to Elphaba; beautiful, kind, and strong-willed Elphaba. But it wasn't meant to be. Elphaba had been hunted, persecuted for her ideals in an act of twisted censorship. Glinda, however, had conformed to the Wizards ideas and, as a reward for her lies to the people and betrayal to her friends, she had been called Good. To her, the word had come to mean the exact opposite of its original definition. Glinda wanted nothing more that to be like her deceased friends, to renounce the title of Good and become what those ignorant citizens called Wicked.
Through their lives, our children learn
What
we miss, when we misbehave
The
lies were like poison, or a disease. They spread through the
population of Oz like
wildfire. And the worst part was that they were teaching these lies to their children. The next generation would be raised on lies, and Glinda could do nothing to stop it.
Yes,
Goodness knows
The Wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows
The
Wicked cry alone
Nothing grows for the Wicked
They reap
only
What they've sown
She had made a promise. A promise to change the world for the better; to change Oz for good. Supporting Elphaba in public would ruin her chances to keep that promise, and break another in the process. Glinda thought it was ironic. A Good witch always kept her promises, yet the most important promises she had ever made, the vows to honor her best friends memory, were the hardest to keep.
She shook her head, ashamed that she was standing here wallowing in self-pity. She could practically hear Elphie's voice in her head, telling her to stop crying and do something useful. Glinda smiled, took one last fond look at the graves of her friends, and set off for her home in Quadling Country. As she passed trough the thicket of trees that concealed the hilltop memorial, she noticed the sign placed as both a warning and a marker. It was simple, like the graves that lied beyond it, and emblazoned with a simple, yet powerful question.
Are
people born Wicked? Or do they have
Wickedness thrust upon them?
-:-
So there it is. A musical-verse songfic to a song from the musical. Yes, it's crazy. No, I don't care.