Trust
The little boy stood near the well and watched her serenely. He wanted to show her, what was inside. But Elphaba didn't move. She was unsure about his motives, yet curious what she would find in the depths of the well. Nanny once told her, the well behind the barn of Melena's house in Colwen Grounds was a wishing well. As a child, Melena used to drop coins in the darkness of it, she used to listen to the splash the coin would make as it fell in the midnight black water and then she spoke a wish – and sometimes, it came true. There wasn't only water inside the grey bricks of the well – there was magic. But was this a well of the same kind? While Elphaba pondered the thought, the little boy approached her, moving carefully, pulled to the grass by the heavy weight he had to carry. He had filled the wooden bucket that somehow belonged to the well that hid itself in the shadows, in the roof of the oakhairtree leaves, with glistening water and he walked near her with a shiny grin on his heart-shaped, cherry-red mouth. The little boy had noticed that Elphaba had always preserved a great space between her and the greenish brown puddles, the rainy days had left, she always walked slowly and carefully when she was on a bridge or near the sparkling spring that leaved the ground behind the farmhouse. He was now in the mood of scaring her and as he enjoyed the grimace Elphaba was pulling as she saw him come closer, something cracked dangerously above his head.
And then he found himself under a large branch of the oakhairtree that so clever hid the well. He spilled the water, fed the dry grass with it and he let out a moan, as the branch buried his body underneath its weight.
Elphaba felt dizzy, but yet she didn't know if for the fright or the heat of the sun that was pulling her down. She carefully approached the lifeless body of the little boy and stroked back the dusty hair that hid his eyes. They were opened wide in shock and blood soaked his clothes. Elphaba stroked his forehead, his eyelids and his cheeks. Did she just kill him? Or was this an accident? She remembered the fear that suddenly overcame her, as she saw the boy carrying the bucket of water to her. She remembered, how numb she felt, not able to move, just staring at the boy walking away from the well under the oakhairtree. And then it happened.
Elphaba knew she got to tell it to someone – to anyone. She pulled herself up and left behind the little boy under the branch of the old oakhairtree. She walked slightly across the playground. Two little girls were climbing the apple trees in the garden fields, throwing apples on their companion's head. They stole and they laughed a gleeful laughter. They seemed not the type to tell. Elphaba walked on. She found a few grown-ups, chatting beside the playground. They gave her a deprecatingly glare and returned to their girly chat. They seemed not the type to listen. She scanned a few boys, stealing the playthings of a group of girls. She found a couple of hens; they didn't talk much, they just cackled in fear, as the farm-cat tried to catch them. They seemed not the type to understand. She found a feather of a crow – hopefully it doesn't miss his lost feather. She found a butterfly on a tulip bug – but she didn't find anyone, who seemed her trustworthy enough to know, what she had done.
Alone and in deep grief she crawled back to the body of the little boy, who was dead, thanks to her. She had to keep the secret herself, for she didn't see anyone, whom she could trust, to keep it with her.
As dawn licked the crown of the old oakhairtree, Elphaba was still sitting with the little boy. She took his pale hands into her emerald green fingers and she stroked his head. She hadn't meant to kill him. When Elphaba heard the call of a mother and the rustling grass under nearing footsteps, she wasn't in preparation of the aching scream.
"What have you done?"
The woman pushed her away and fell to her knees. Now she knew. And she would loathe the little green girl forever, for it was her who killed her beloved son…