I wrote this about a year ago, and never posted it. I guess I'll post it now! Review please!
The grave was a simple one, just a mound of fresh earth under a maple tree in a small clearing. There was a tiny headstone as well, enchanted to read, Elphie, the Witch of the West.
Glinda could not bring herself to write the word 'wicked.' Somehow, it just wasn't correct. The Elphaba she had known was not wicked. She was green, yes, and strong-headed, and had a temper, but she was never wicked.
The wicked didn't love, or believe, or pray. Elphaba did these things. She loved Fiyero. She believed in the Animals' rights. She prayed for things to be alright. She was not wicked.
And
Goodness knows
The Wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows
The Wicked die alone
It just shows when you're Wicked
You're
left only
On your own
Elphaba was lonely. She was always singled out because of her skin. But that was not her fault. That was because other people refused to let her in.
Elphie had always wished that she were loved, and she had a good reason to do so. Her father had never loved her, all because of her skin color. He had even blamed her for her sister's condition.
Then, in school, she had been paired with the most beautiful, and popular, girl. This girl, (me, thought Glinda regretfully) tormented her for the longest time. Finally, when they became friends, the girl was too cowardly to give up her popularity and help her friend.
This is my fault, she thought. I should have been there, with my friend, when she needed me.
No
one mourns the Wicked
No one cries "They won't return!"
No one lays a lily on their grave
The good man scorns the
Wicked!
Glinda began to cry. How could she have been so blind? Did popularity really mean more to her than her one, true friend? She could have used her power to help Elphie, but instead, she was burying her…well, remains, under an old maple tree on the campus of their old school.
All that was left of Elphie was the ugly pointed hat she'd worn, and the green vial that she had carried for so long. Glinda now knew what it had contained, and understood who was to be blamed for Elphaba's…greenness.
The Wizard, had, of course, been sacked, and monarchy rightfully restored after the revelations of the previous fortnight. What with the general public still believing Elphaba to be wicked, it was just not on the public agenda to support the Wizard with the knowledge that he was Elphie's father.
Glinda had been asked to take over for the Wizard, but due to her colossal sense of guilt, she declined. Instead, she had quietly transformed Fiyero back into a man, and come here to bury Elphie at his suggestion.
Yes,
Goodness knows
The Wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows
The Wicked cry alone
Nothing grows for the Wicked
They
reap only
What they sow
Glinda sniffled, mumbling something under her breath. Out of the tip of her wand, a wreath of Easter Lilies, white and pure and glowing in the moonlight, landed on the headstone.
"I'm sorry, Elphie. I should have been there. And no matter what I said, you're not wicked, and I'm here mourning you now, because I miss you." Glinda said all this haltingly, willing herself not to collapse on the ground.
She kept her eyes on the headstone as long as she could stand. It was difficult, because it almost felt as if Elphie's intense eyes were drilling into hers the longer she looked. Finally, being able to stand it no more, she looked up into the endless black sky. To calm herself, she started looking for the constellations.
Orion, Cygnus, Canis Major, she recited to herself, breathing deeply. But, wait. There was something…
For less than an instant, she had seen something flit across the moon: A lumpy creature, or maybe two together, on a broom. Elphie? Perhaps it was her wishful thinking, but she could have sworn that the figure was wearing a pointed hat.
Whether it really was Elphie or not, it made Glinda feel better to think that it could have been. She loved the idea that maybe, after everything, Elphie and Fiyero might still be alive, starting a new life somewhere…
"Goodbye," she whispered to the grave with the Lilies on it. She would miss her friend.
No one mourns the Wicked, Elphie, but not everyone can mourn the good, either, She thought. And it was true. Not everyone would understand Elphaba's life, but if one person did, it was okay.
I'll miss you, Elphie.