Author's Note: Hey guys! This is a project I'd been thinking of pursuing for awhile, and this weekend I just decided i'd give it a go. Essentially, I'm retelling the story of Wicked entirely in verse (as the summary says) but I'm going to be making a few changes to the plot- the first of them comes in this prelude.
I've always felt that the whole "the wizard is Elphaba's father" thing to be cliched, predictable and kinda derivative, so I wanted to give her a more inventive and darker reason for her being green. In the book, it passingly mentions Melena may have been raped by elves. In this version, Melena purchases a form of green elvish alcohol that drugs her and maker her pass out. Then they break in, and... well, read on an find out.
Some stuff about the writing: it's 10 syllable lines with iambic pentameter and structured with rhyming couplets except for a few occasions where I go with ABAB. I'll post the next section of the poem whenever I finish.
If there's any parts of the verse or language than you guys aren't sure you get (sometimes, you use a metaphor or a piece of imagery and it's only clear to the writer), feel free to PM me about. Also, please drop a review and tell me what you thought of they prelude!
Wicked
Prelude:
The poison courses through her limb to limb
And vein to vein. She drank upon a whim
To quench her thirst for an escape from life,
From pains and Unnamed Gods and strife,
But loneliness her drinking fails to quench,
The lust and frustrations that do entrench
Her like some soldier in an Ozma war,
The bullets screech- she fails to hear the door,
The poison she was sold, a viscous green,
A darker shade than grass that she has seen
Outside her window since they did arrive,
(Back then, she thinks, she almost felt alive)
The gang know its effect; their minds are sharp,
As sharp as all their elvish ears and teeth,
She is asleep as if under a harp's
Soft soothing spell, dissonance underneath,
They creep inside, their tinkling lullaby
Successful in its task. The room she lies
Within is empty save for things they take,
The preacher's house is stolen lest she wake,
They take all that their hungered hands can sell,
And for his wife the final fate befell
Her was the greatest single prize,
She felt no stab of swords, her sealed shut eyes
Were empty orbs. They left inside a seed,
To dig in roots and grow and slowly feed,
Until the day it finally bursts to bloom
And sprout its em'rald leaves. And in the gloom
The preacher's wife begins to blink and shift,
She's unaware of this unholy gift,
Their house is now corrupt with sin- a husk,
Its innocence has faded with the dusk,
Yet from this darkness something manifests,
A scourge to sour and soar the Ozian west.
Please RR.
