Author's Note:

This is my first Wicked fanfic. Also, keep in mind that I have never seen the musical or read the book. I just love the cincept of Doctor Dillamond so much that I had to take a stab at writing it. Please review.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Wicked, Doctor Dillamond, or any concept used in this story.

"Baaaaaaaaaah!"

Why are you smiling? Did I not tell you to help me? How silly of me. I nearly forgot. We are not on the same level you and I. You speak the language of the humans while I, confined in this pen, can only bleet, looking at you with reproachful eyes. We are on different sides of more than just this fence. Beams of wood constructed in a design that keeps you out and me in, they are only a solid and real metifore for the true separation I endure.

"Such a nice old fellow."

More words from you as you push your human hand through the beams of my pen. Can I eat it? Hmmmm. No, of course not! Stupid! My mind has become increasingly dim, and though I try to hold on, try to remain cogniscent, it is an almost impossible task. Once, I was a teacher at Shiz University. Have you heard of it? Of course you have. Once, I was a doctor of history, a respected pillar of the community. Then HE came. That wizard with his ….

I wonder. Is the nice man going to take me out again today. There is a hill not far from here where tender blades shoot out of the earth. If I cannot eat your hand, is your garment any better. No. Ah well.

Damn it! Think Dillamond! Think! I was a doctor once. I knew of things that happened long before the corruption we now face. Oh the things I could teach you!

"Baaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The nice man is coming again. He smells of sweat, leather, and a chemical I once knew the name of. His hands had blood on them not two hours ago. They are clean to your eyes, but I can smell the taint of it in his skin. Goat blood. I shy away.

"I'll take him." You hand the nice man a purse filled with round shiny things. I know the nature of these glittering flat circles. I know the exchanging of them from one to another means that the former is buying something. Since only you, I, and that barbarian with the bloody hands are in sight, I can only deduce the something being bought is me.

Are you going to buy me, then? Are you going to lead me away to another place, another pen where I will be at your mercy? Are you cruel or kind, intelegent or as dim as I? And what is it you want of me? What brings you to buy a weary creature with no desire for your love and no real strength for work or climbing? Perhaps you wish to breed me. Do you have a female goat somewhere? I have no desire for coupling, though if she is in need, I fear my instincts will leave me little if any choice.

I loved once, a girl with green skin and a concern for life that touched me. What was her name? It escapes me. A name I swore I would never, could never forget. She with her eyes on that winkie prince, she with her determination and thirst for knolege was always the brightest light in my day. It is a rare thing, love. However one-sided, the feeling of completeness and connection to another being is one of life's greatest gifts.

Oh no! No no no! You stopped scratching? Why would you do such a thing? Baaaaaaah! Scratch on! Yes. That's more like it. I think we will be good friends, you and I. Oh, to be scratched!

The nice man slips a rope about my neck. Out! We're going out! Yes! Hurray! There is a hill. Did I tell you? A hill with shooting blades of grass so tender and sweet it makes a goat quite happy indeed.