"I have to find it. Oz, help me; I have to find it." The man muttered furiously under his breath as he scoured the graveyard, hastily reading the chiseled names on the weathered stones. His breathing became heavy and labored as he drew his torn jacket about him.
A victorious, and rather loud, giggle exploded from his mouth as he threw himself down at the tombstone in front of him. He groveled at the mere sight of her name and felt a tear slide its way down his dirty cheek, making a clean path through the grime on his face.
Elphaba Thropp
Misunderstood and greatly missed
Misunderstanding was something that he had seen far too many times. Misunderstanding had torn two relationships. Misunderstanding was the reason that Elphaba Thropp was dead. He wiped the tear away rapidly; there was no point in releasing those memories again. All he was here for was to find the wand; His beloved Glinda's wand. An insane laugh resonated from his mouth as he fiercely dug through the soil, the dark matter wading in his fingernails and flying all over his tatty clothes.
The digging took him quite some time but he knew that he would not be disturbed. The graveyard was abandoned and there were frightful rumors that the Witch's ghost still haunted the cemetery, waiting to discover her killer. As his jagged nails reached the laminated cherry wood of her coffin, he eagerly threw off the top, not believing his eyes at the sight.
There was no body, and there was definitely no wand. He painstakingly flipped over the lid, observing the inside for nail marks and signs of struggle. There were none. Perhaps someone had come before him and stolen Elphaba's body and sold the wand to some pawn shop in the dark alleys of the Emerald City.
"Damn it!" He yelled to no one in particular. There was no one around to hear him, anyway. He had come just to retrieve an item that would most possibly secure his fortune. Normally, such an item wouldn't mean so much to him, but after all that they had gone through together, that wand deserved to be his.
He closed the coffin and, in a rage, angrily and sloppily threw the dirt back into the empty grave. After his unexplained fit, he stood up straight and briskly walked back to the main road. Well, it used to be a main road. It was nothing but gravel of varying sizes now. He took a sharp turn and came face to face with the ruins of the Upland household. His heart ached as he knelt by the gate, his hands wrapping themselves around the rusted iron bars. It wasn't possible. This shouldn't have happened. Elphaba should not have been murdered; Glinda should not have taken her own life. The mere statement in his mind brought him back to the day where Glinda had told him about her love for Elphaba.
"I will die without her, Fiyero. I know that you don't believe me but I would!"
He had no idea that what she said had been true. He remembered seeing Glinda sprawled out on the floor, blood pooling around her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face, as if she knew that she would be reunited with her love, her soul mate.
Before he could do anything to stop it, tears made their way down his face as he finally released all of the pain that he had kept inside of him for so long. He fell forward, barely feeling the scrape of rough, cold cement that collided with his cheek. He could feel that the rough stone had made a cut in his face, but he didn't care. He couldn't care.
The distraught man laid there with his face in the concrete, crying and screaming for mercy. But there was no mercy to be given, not from his two friends anyway. They were both dead and gone and there was nothing to be misunderstood in that fact.