Letters
~ A 'Wicked' Fanfiction ~
~ By Heatqueen ~
A/N: This is an idea I've wanted to experiment with for a while. It may expand into a multi-chapter story, but I wanted to test it out as a small segment first. Reviews would be appreciated. Thanks and enjoy!
Scribble.
The noise was grating on Galinda's ears. Heads bent, hands moving at the speed of light. All eyes down except hers. The occasional flap of a turning page; the odd sigh. A pout on Galinda's dainty mouth.
Green – on her right, pouring easy marks onto the page. White – the empty sheet beneath her. Also, the chalk on the blackboard. Squiggles and swirls that might have been written in jibberish. Galinda squinted. She knew her letters, one at a time, but in such huge numbers, they wouldn't stop moving around. Blink, blink. Still moving – quick, catch them!
A clock ticking, marking the seconds, the minutes, the hour that diminished at lightning speed. Sun pouring through the stained glass window, still peeking just above the horizon, warming Galinda's shoulder. If only she could get some fresh air, perhaps she might be able to think.
The Goat, sitting on his stool at the front of the room, his eyes scanning some thick novel through eyeglasses. Probably one of those tiny-lettered ones that academics so loved. It's Ga-linda, you stupid Goat.
Lines. She was supposed to write on them. They glared at her from the sheet, mocking her ignorance. What did the Goat say about the essay? Something about Munchkin farming history, not that anyone cared. The Munchkins were a world of their own, hanging out in grassy landscapes with cobble paths, sheep and mud. Who cared how they farmed as long as all of Oz got its food?
She inked the words 'Munchkin farming history', the brightness of the pink ink jumping out of the page. The dot of the 'i's drawn as circles. The bottom of the 'g' curled inwards. The 'o' not quite closed at the top. Each letter, a slightly different size and shape, giving an uneven and loopy appearance.
Next to her, Elphie flipped the page and scribbled on the back. Even if Galinda was the sort to consider cheating, Elphie's writing was far too small to read from such a distance. Each letter perfect, each sentence straight. Each point she made precise and clear, and backed up with evidence.
'Five minutes,' the Goat remarked.
Familiar words. Familiar tug in the stomach. Familiar feeling, her old friend, resignation, nestling itself deep in her soul. Familiar thoughts – dumb blonde, not good enough.
Her shoulder cooled. The Goat called time.
Pens down. Pages filled. No more scribbling.
No more letters.