The Man of Straw
By: Gothic Lust
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Scarecrow/Dorothy
Romance/Drama
Rated T (possibly M in later chapters)
Summary: [Sequel to "Not Just Hay and Straw"] It was that one night that held him rampantly: His one night as a mortal man, free to love the woman of his dreams with all he could; for the mornings light that breaks upon his face would wake him to find him once again a man of straw sent back to the dream realm to tend the fields of corn with which he was held to scare the crows.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the character from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
Author's Note: Thank you for those who read my first Wizard of Oz fanfiction. I didn't think it'd go so well. I decided that I didn't want it to end on such a sour note, the lovers needed another chance to get back. So here I'm going to finish the story in a few chapters. Maybe the Scarecrow will get lucky…. But who knows…
Time flew steadily in the Land of Oz where the Wizard had left the ever lonely Scarecrow in charge of the dazzling Emerald City. Their journey finally at an end now found him silently reading books to pass the time with an old stem woven bracelet used to mark the page.
It had been many years since Dorothy left for her rightful home, a departure that saddened him no matter how many times he thought of her eventual happiness in the land of her birth. The not-so-cowardly Lion and the gold-hearted Tin Man split from him soon after, the stressful times of his childish brooding and sulking did nothing to keep them at his side to comfort him and the loss of his love.
It was selfish and cruel to think that he was the only one to truly love Dorothy, the only one affected by such an unhappy end. The Lion, whose patience had run thin with the Scarecrow's antics, didn't think twice about his actions. Instead he grabbed the Tin Man roughly by the shoulders and left their straw filled friend to mope.
There were no letters, no visits, or messages by ear. Now the Scarecrow could truly say he was alone. Though depressed in his solitude as he was, he could not find the heart, or courage, to call them back. His two most trusted friends had left him and his ever growing brain to read away the books and pages within the Wizard's stores. A small flicker of hope kindled within each turned page.
He flipped through every book and scroll, every unbound page and scribbled piece of parchment to find a way to bring his loved one back and find a permanent cure to his 'disease'.
The Scarecrow could not bear the thought of Dorothy with another man, but he held no right to keep her, for he was not truly a man himself. His limbs were filled with straw, his skin but patched up pieces of weathered rags, and the so-called brain, his prize for keeping to Dorothy's side, nothing but a head of saw and dust. He could feel like nothing but an animated corpse stuffed with unwanted scraps. A talking, walking, feeling nobody, with little ambition left for him in this world. His one cure to this dreadful everlasting disease of his, this straw filled affliction that held him captive for so long as he was crucified to a pole to scare the crows away from crops of corn, was a spell to turn him into a living, breathing man that might one day be able to love Dorothy just the same.
He wanted to be selfish, he wanted her to love him here, in this world, in this realm that she created and housed within her heart. He wanted her to come back to him and draw his departed friends back as well.
He wanted to slip his fingers through her silken brown hair and pull them free from her woven braids. He wanted to taste her flesh again and remember the delicacy with which her sweat tasted upon her skin. He wished to meet her eyes, those light blue pools of rippled water and descend upon her lips like any other man would.
The last time he held her, he allowed him self to touch her—to kiss the supple flesh of her neck and shoulder, denying himself desperately to shatter her innocence and take her first kiss for which he so wished to claim. Any farther than that was a dream he would never get to see become reality.
Though he was a man, one haphazardly made of straw and rags, and prone to the desires of one, he was not a man of flesh and blood. He could not bind her to him like those who could back at her home. He could not fulfill the promises of wedded life. He could not give her children should she ask it of him, and he could not age with her as their time drew steadily to a close.
He could do nothing more than love her, and speak that love for he could do little to show it to her. The Scarecrow was a selfish bastard. He knew he could not love her fully, and yet he so desperately wanted to. He wanted to live his life with her, as a mortal man with a beating heart and living brain. He wanted to be able to truly smell her, taste her, and touch her as a living man.
Yet alas, there was no spell within the Wizard's stores and cases in his vast library of knowledge that could change a man of straw to flesh. The Scarecrow could only hope to live within her dream and pray that she thought of him often, for she was never far from his wandering mind.
The Scarecrow could do little now but pass the day away pacing the halls of the Wizard's study, aiding those who asked for his help and guidance while waiting for the blasted old man to return to his duty and relieve him of his vows.
It was this one thing that kept the young Scarecrows life going, his word and vows to care for the vast Emerald City and the people housed within after Dorothy's departure for the duration of the old Wizard's untimely vacation that seemed to stretch for ages. Had he not known the old geezer to be immortal, he would have half expected word by now of the decrepit old man's untimely passing—a well placed curse just to piss him off and tie him to a rather unfortunate task that had been forced upon him directly before his beloved's departure.
Thought the hope of ever returning to her, or turning himself to flesh, had long since been extinguished within his conscious mind, his unconscious could not let go of his love for her and desperately clung to any form of spark that could possibly rekindle his passion to fetch her. His heart so desperately clung to these small sparks of heatless light, that when the Wizard's approach drew near, he could not help but find himself giddy. The old man may yet hold some cure for him and bring with it, his beloved.
PREVIEW FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT:
It was that one night that held him rampantly: His one night as a mortal man, free to love the woman of his dreams with all he could, for mornings light that breaks upon his face would wake him to find him once again a man of straw sent back to the dream realm to tend the fields of corn with which he was held to scare the crows.
How's that for a teaser? I know… there are grammatical errors, but I wanted to put this out so quickly.
And here's a random poem I wrote for you all:
The straw man's heart that once did weep
Longed for a girl whose heart did beat.
His limbs of straw now turned to flesh,
So that he may love her till death.
But 'twas only for nay one night,
That the lovers could reunite,
For in the morrow did he wake,
To find him-self yet filled with hay.
I hope that you enjoyed this, I'm sorry that it was short; the next chapter should be longer (though it may not come out for some time).
Thank you for all of those that read the first story "Not Just Hay and Straw" and decided to continue reading. I think this is a really cute couple, and I really like the Scarecrow. He's really fun to write.
Until next time…
--Gothic Lust