A plume of thick red smog erupted from the ground with a bang, throwing the Munchkins to the ground in shock, fear and surprise. Dorothy stared at the cloud, her eyes wide in awe rather than fear. She had never seen something so remarkable – at least not live. It reminded her of that nuclear bomb test she saw on television, the explosion too loud for the speakers, causing it to crackle, the mushroom shaped cloud springing up like…..like a fast growth mushroom.
The red smoke quickly cleared to reveal…..a woman? A woman with a hat – a cone shaped hat. She squinted through the smoke then reeled back at the sight, suppressing a scream. Could it be? That woman was green! Green like fresh, green grass, green like…..like sin. The woman strode forward and the Munchkins seemed to shrink at her presence, whimpering.
The Witch was a tall woman, Dorothy observed to distract herself, her heart vibrating up her throat. She didn't seem all that old and possessed a sort of lankiness as if she hadn't completely filled out…..or perhaps she was just thin.
"I thought you said she was dead." Dorothy whispered.
"Oh she is dearie!" replied Glinda explosively, not bothering to lower her voice. Dorothy turned to stare closely at Glinda who grinned back at her, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated, her face pale and the muscles around her mouth twitching slightly. It was extremely disconcerting. "That's the Wicked Witch of the West!" she continued, practically shouting. "She's even worse than the other one!" she suddenly burst into giggles at the statement and Dorothy flinched, increasingly uncomfortable especially since the Witch must have heard all that.
The Witch stood still, not sure whether to be hurt or concerned at Glinda's sudden proclamation and her overly giggly attitude which at the moment was entirely inappropriate.
"Who killed my sister?" the Witch asked quietly in a surprisingly young voice for a Witch. She turned to Dorothy who froze under her stare. The Witch had round, brown eyes, Dorothy observed. And an angular face like…like her Italian school teacher. And an accent. Not Italian but…..something else – she couldn't place it.
A man stepped out of the cluster of cowering Munchkins. He was an oldish man in his sixties, dressed in a black, collard shirt and pants that stood out against his nearly white complexion. Dorothy and the Munchkins gasped in surprise and astonishment as the man pulled a metal pipe from his baggy sleeve and began to march right up to the Witch who didn't notice him.
Dorothy wanted to shout something, a warning, anything! But she couldn't bring herself to make a sound.
The Witch turned to Dorothy. "Was it you – AH!" the man had swung the pipe into the Witch's side, causing a sudden uproar from the surrounding Munchkins who sprang up from their cowering positions, cheering, gasping in disbelief and muttering at the stupidity of it like spectators at a boxing match.
The Witch whirled around and exclaimed "Oh my god!" at the sight of the man who in return smacked the pipe into her temple, causing her to stumble sideways and onto the ground.
"You bitch!" seethed the man, towering over the Witch who stared up at him in shock. "You really thought you could escape from me? After all the shit I've had to put with?"
"Yeah you tell her!" yelled a young Munchkin but was silenced as the man raised his pipe and proceeded to stab the shit out of the Witch who flailed about defiantly, even when the unmistakable crack of bone could be heard and blood began to spatter on the yellow brick. The crowd had lost their previous vigour and now stared, taken aback at the spectacle, their brows raised as the Witch began to scream in pain or panic or anguish or something. No one could tell.
Dorothy pried her eyes away from the sight and turned to Glinda.
"Do something!" she shrieked.
"I never knew red went well with green."
Dorothy threw up her hands.
