Dorothy: The Darker Side of OZ v5

by Scott Stanford

  Walking for ten minutes Dorothy can feel herself on the verge of tears, wanting to scream and beg for an answer, but she feels confined in this land, wrapped in its unseen bondage as she hears a faint whisper. Coming no farther than a foot from her ears she walks to a wall as the sound echoes from a plant, growing amongst the sprawling vines. The whisper’s no louder so she puts her hands to the wall and her head closer as the sound of a dying insect hums in her ear. Curious, she puts her nose against the plant and looks into one of the flowers to see a beetle with a human face, crushed in half and dying as she barely makes out its words. Stepping backward, feeling her stomach sink Dorothy hears a gnarl coming from around the corner and searches for a hiding place. Again finding herself in an alleyway she doesn’t notice the rows of eyes coming from inside the darkness, watching her hide. Distracted she hears a scream in the streets, followed by another gnarl, and she watches as a creature falls to the floor. Frail with its eyes sewn shut and cracked open skin the tall creature’s just like the Lairmans, and Dorothy observes, unable to turn away. Attacking it, a munchkin screams incoherently as a centipede waits by the side, holding the little torturer’s tools on its back in a leather case. Unable to blink Dorothy looks at the centipede, two feet high and stretching yards in length as it looks at the victim hungrily. Horrified Dorothy unwillingly gives a screech and the munchkin turns, looking into the alley as it groans and runs toward her. Moving quickly, running deeper into the darkness Dorothy can feel the small creature behind her, followed by the centipedes’ trail as suddenly she screams, losing her balance and falling into a pit seven feet deep.

  Standing at the edge, the munchkin looks down at Dorothy and laughs, turning as he walks back into the alley, whilst the young girl hunches on the floor. Raising her head she looks up at the alleyway and then into the distance to a fruitful, almost tropical garden as she places a hand in front of her. Pushing away large amounts of grass she looks out to the vast green, so confused how something like this could grow in the city. Then it crosses her mind, why didn’t the munchkin follow her?

  3

  Dorothy’s eyes peel away layers of tall grass as she leers out to the green, feeling at the brick wall behind her, knowing she can’t go back.

  Hesitant at first with her eyes dry and her skin lightly trembling she ploughs a foot through the grass, wading at the strands with her hands as she hears the faint buzz of insects. Her skin itches; she feels them crawl along her legs and looks down as the spindly limbs of roaches trek up her body. Swiping them away, feeling the fluttering of dragonflies in her hair she freezes in fear, spotting a coiled snake a foot from where she stands.

  With her throat dry and her mouth open, she does nothing but watch as it attacks. Lunging in the air with fangs poised it snaps, its jaws hungry and body coiling as it misses Dorothy’s face by an inch as she comes too. Running through the abnormal garden, pushing with all her weight and unconscious of where she stands, Dorothy feels the insects crush under her feet and stops when she reaches a mound of stone. Looking at the tall grass around her, and the odd bright flowers piling in the air, their heads move, petals bulge as if for breath and Dorothy fears the utopia. Standing on the rock, an island to the intrepid grass her legs feel weak and she looks down to her black dolly shoes, covered in insect blood and plastered in their skin. Then staring across at the brick buildings and tropical garden trapped in the alleyway, she watches the vines clawing at the walls, trying to escape. Scared to step back into the grass Dorothy looks across the way at a message on the wall; carved ruggedly, inches thick into the concrete she reads, ‘Welcome! Sometimes pleasant, sometimes terrible!’

  Jumping at the odd hiss of a snake her head turns quickly, looking into a corner of the alleyway to see a path where the grass turns to mud. With her heart racing, mind unable to fathom what lies beyond the garden she runs, feeling the grass press against her skin and the brittle armour of insects crush under her feet. Deafened by the odd hisses she clenches her teeth, powering through the green with no thoughts as her feet touch mud and her body crashes into a wall. Stumbling along, refusing to fall so close to the garden she bounces off the hard stone and feels the skin on her legs tear open as she finally crashes to her knees.

  With her eyes closed momentarily, cold water and stone pressing against her legs she wants to sob but won’t allow it. Raising her head she looks up at the dark narrow path before her, standing to press a hand against the wet wall as she walks forward, scared to go back. She touches at a cut on her shoulder, ‘only a scratch’ she tells herself as she presses forward, her path merely lit by the midnight blue sky. Walking deeper into the unknown, she turns a corner to see the same dark narrow trail in front of her. Her nerves splintering and the end so far away she moves quicker and breathes harder, as what looked like nothing in the distance is another wall. She panics, slaps a hand against the stone and looks down the new path, the same as before she keeps going, turning a bend, and another to see the same. She screams, almost sure she’s walked a mile through the maze as she starts to run. Her feet crash into the wet ground, her hands glide along the walls and she looks up to the midnight sky, turning another corner.

  Out of breath, stopping dead she grabs at her pig tails and pulls hard to feel pain, shouting, ‘I don’t want to be here!’ Her voice echoes off the walls, trailing to the new path in front of her as she listens to it repeat and fade, unexpectedly changing. The pitch heightens, feels closer, taunting as it comes threefold. The words:

  ‘I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here!’ entwine, following with sadistic laughter as Dorothy feels its presence behind her. She turns, clenches a fist and screams, ‘What do you want?’ to hear the munchkin voices screech, mimicking, ‘What do you want?’, ‘What do you want?’, ‘What do you want?’, ‘What do you want?’, ‘What do you want?’, ‘What do you want?’ Then a deepened cackle scorns, ‘Just your skin!’ as Dorothy turns, continuing to run down her new narrow trail. Ignoring the darkness, the mud growing slicker underneath her feet she turns a bend and stands still to see nothing but nettles and brambles in front of her.

  A wall ten feet high of nothing but cruel vines blocks her path and she tries to look through them, placing a hand against the stinging leaves. She hears the voices behind her, their high-pitched goads coming closer as she ignores them and pushes her hand deeper into the fray. She knows there’s no other way out and endures the scratches along her skin, letting her hand dip further into the darkness as suddenly she feels a tight grip around her wrist. Squealing in surprise she tries to resist but feels her whole weight fall forward, pulled through the wall as thorns cut along her arms and nettles brush their sting against her face.

  In mere seconds Dorothy’s through the wall and stands cold with her eyes closed, expecting the nettles to brush along her eyelids again. Twitching her fingers, feeling the cool air along her legs she slowly opens her eyes to look around a grotto, feeling lost and vulnerable. Dark and dingy the cave smells of hot tar, seared meat and bears a solemn hark as a line of munchkins stand close to Dorothy, their hands gripping at weapons as they await command. Looking down at them quickly, ignoring the stinging of her skin she searches the grotto with her eyes, letting them heavily swoop as they flutter past the racks of archaic tools to a caged pale female. Then Dorothy’s stare rests in the distance, watching a shadowed woman sit atop a throne, every inch of her shrouded from sight except for the ocean blue of her eyes, and the odd shine of her silver boots.

  4

  From her darkened throne, Avatonika’s harrowing shrill commands, ‘Bind her!’ as Dorothy’s succumbed by the munchkins attack, unable to stop them as they pile upon her like maggots.

  Savagely fighting back and trying to bite at their fingers Dorothy’s survival instinct struggles as the horde pin her to the ground, forcing a gag between her teeth while its leather strap presses strongly to the back of her neck. Trying to scream, flail a clenched fist in the hope of freedom her hands are q
uickly tied, and swiftly like on salted ground the slug-like munchkins reseed.

  Finally one of them straps a collar to Dorothy’s neck and another clenches tightly at its chain with a smile. Weak and scared she stares into the darkness, feeling the munchkin pull at her lead as her head snaps forward and she struggles to look behind her, seeing several of the creatures follow, holding long black sticks tipped with razorblades. Dorothy crawls forward with her hands bound as she follows her leader, striving along the dark grotto to be seized at the foot of the throne. Slowly raising her head, feeling defeated and lost, the silver glare of the witch’s boots catch Dorothy’s attention before she looks into the darkness at a pair of ocean blue eyes. Staring deep into the shroud she witnesses the face of Avatonika and tries to scream, making no more than a whimper as saliva moistens the gag in her mouth. Trying to pull away Dorothy feels her chain tied to the base of the throne, as Avatonika laughs grimly and the munchkins anxiously watch. Dorothy sobs, struggling to breathe through her nose, whilst from a shadowed veil the witch’s rotten voice spits acid:

  ‘You’re the one my people have talked about, the one of white and blue. How nice of you to come to me of your own will, there may still be hope for you…if I let there be.’

  Dorothy tries to speak, bite with her words and inevitably beg but Avatonika demands her silent, and taunts just to see the young girl’s eyes widen in fear:

  ‘Be careful with what words you try to speak outlander, or I might just take your tongue like I have some of our caged guests.’

  In the odd silence, unsure where to look Dorothy peers across the grotto, just past a pit of hot tar as several strange bodies lie captive. Her eyes linger on the caged creatures, several of them resembling the wicked munchkins; yet their skin’s unscarred, cheeks rosy and their height only a little shorter than her-own. They look as old as her uncle and aunt, and one points to the stubbed tongue in its mouth as he shakes his head, advising Dorothy. Her eyes then rest upon one captive in particular, this one older than the others. She sits broken and caged as Dorothy stares at her skin, pale white as if bleached and her eyes the brightest purple. Looking through the bars of her bondage, pulling strands of clear white hair away from her tear stained cheeks she tries to smile and comfort the young girl. Dorothy’s daze is splintered, thoughts of what to come shattered by Avatonika’s voice as she trembles, clenching fists of dirt while the witch’s words burn:

  ‘I am torn between what to do with you, but either way you will suffer!’

  Avatonika looks down to watch a munchkin hesitantly approach the throne as he places a deformed hand on Dorothy’s face. He smiles wickedly with the contact, caressing the flesh with a grunt as he looks up to hear the witch’s voice:

  ‘It appears you may have a use to me. We are in need of a new breed, and with your qualities the outcome would be promising. You could mother my next generation.’

  As Dorothy tries to scream, wriggle away from her chains she can feel the munchkins coming from behind her. Avatonika watches but doesn’t flinch, not even out of excitement as she whispers the words ‘Brand her,’ into the air. One lucky munchkin separates from the horde quickly while the rest groan in high-pitched excitement, surrounding Dorothy. Glancing in the distance as the brand heats on scolding coals the witch watches the slow torture, letting it proceed as she looks into the young girl’s eyes. They’re begging innocently as the munchkins’ rough flesh and jagged nails graze like razors, and their greedy breath sinks into her pores. Soon enough the lucky munchkin runs from the hot coals as he holds the scorching branding iron in his hands. With a simple, ‘Part!’ from Avatonika’s festered mouth the munchkins pull from Dorothy’s side and the lucky one walks to the new meat as she struggles. Feeling the heat of the iron close to her skin Dorothy tries to barter, beg again with gagged lips as the witch commands:

  ‘Look at me child. I don’t know why you are in my land, but you’re mine now!’

  Distracted by the witch Dorothy looks at the shroud, feeling the intensity of the iron throb through her body as the lucky one presses the brand into her thigh. Biting hard into the gag the young girl’s body tenses then she sprawls to the floor, the brand scorning her skin with the thick symbol of a cross, its east point tipped with an arrow. Pulling the iron away with an expression of excitement the munchkin walks back to the hot coals as Dorothy lies weak at the foot of the throne. Blinded by tears her body feels frail but she refuses to pass out, she won’t let them take advantage of it and struggles to her knees.

  Smiling in the darkness Avatonika hasn’t finished modifying Dorothy yet. She’s only just begun as she utters the word, ‘Pitch-cap!’ to have it followed by the munchkins’ excitement, as several of them run to the tar pit. The pitch-cap’s used to gather information from prisoners, letting hot tar disfigure their faces, but Avatonika doesn’t want answers. The witch wants to scar Dorothy’s pretty head and remove her blue eyes, just as she once proclaimed during the war, ‘No-one prettier than I will live in this land!’

  Grabbing at her chain and untying it from the throne a munchkin leads Dorothy to the tar pit as several follow behind, holding the razorblade tipped sticks to the young girl’s skin. With her hands still bound she feels the sharp stones on the floor digging into her palms, as the witch watches from her throne, pointing a finger to the pit as the asphalt starts to boil. With the heat from the scolding tar spreading along her face Dorothy’s forced to wait beside it, watch as one of the munchkins holds the tip of the metal cap and scoops at the onyx liquid. Trying to resist, stand to her knees or pull backward she feels the edges of razorblades cut at her skin and trembles as the pitch-cap’s held toward her. Desperately mumbling the word, ‘No,’ it’s silenced by the leers of wicked creatures as she looks to the munchkin between her and the pit, holding the cap and ready to burn her skin. Dorothy’s eyes glisten, and in a split second of strength she pulls her confined wrists with all her weight, attacking the munchkin as he stumbles backwards into the pit, screaming as he sinks into darkness. Happening so quickly the others slice at the young girl’s skin with their razorblades as she rises forcefully to her knees, her chain free from their grip she reaches for the metal cap. Clutching it in her bound hands Dorothy looks through the darkness, slinging the hot tar into the witch’s dark corner. With no time to move, not even enough words to cast a spell the agony overwhelms Avatonika, and the munchkins stare in horror as their ruler screams relentlessly. On instinct, remembering the bigger girls who bullied her in the orphanage Dorothy dives into the shadows, attacking the bully when they least expect it. Her weight crashes onto the witch, both of them in darkness as the munchkins hear the screams and watch their ruler’s ocean blue eyes disappear, leaving only the glisten of her silver boots. Quickly the screams change, shorten without breath at first, and in an agonising minute fall mute without life. Then silence.

  Stumbling out of the darkness the munchkins watch Dorothy appear, her bound hands shaking and her eyes staring at the floor. Unsure whether to attack they look at her as one of them shouts, ‘Evil…white devil!’ speaking for them all as they flee the grotto wearily, scared of what the new white witch will do to them if they stay. Her eyes still fixated on the floor and her mind blank, Dorothy feels the cold breeze on her skin as the tar pit cools. In the distance she can hear a voice, a sweet gentle tone mouthing the word, ‘Sorceress!’ then repeating, ‘Sorceress!’ as Dorothy lifts her head to look at the caged ones. The old white woman smiles warmly and the young girl stumbles to the cage, her mind in shock and her body almost given up as she falls to her knees. Pressing a hand to the metal bars Dorothy sobs, ‘I want to go home!’ and smiling softly the wrinkled woman asks, ‘What is your name?’ With no answer the young girl stares to the floor with her thoughts drifting silently, but as the white one continues, ‘Please open the cage,’ Dorothy pulls away. Gentling mouthing, ‘I don’t know if I should,’ she feels the cold breeze on her back and her lips tremble as she turns to look at the silver boots, gleaming besides the
late ruler’s shrouded throne as she whimpers, ‘Who, who was she?’ The white one peeks a sad smile, her skin taut and her eyes agleam:

  ‘She was Avatonika, witch of the east, a tyrant. You’ve done nothing wrong child. You’ve saved the munchkins whether they know it or not.’

  Looking to the floor, scratching at her bloody skin Dorothy grits her teeth as she mumbles, ‘Killing isn’t saving…’ Then lifting her head, new to the world her curiosity snags as she asks, ‘Who are the munchkins?’ The white one replies, ‘These are,’ placing a hand on the shoulder of the man next to her, ‘They are pureblood, unlike the ones that have been tainted by Avatonika. They’ve been suffering for many years, but you’ve freed them from their bondage.’ Dorothy looks at her blankly, frail and weak as the white one sighs, unveiling the horrific acts of the eastern witch to feel sickness well in her stomach:

  ‘Since Avatonika’s rule over the east it had become a barren region that none dare to trek. The streets had turned black, and roots from under the yellow road had infected the concrete. She only welcomed those willing to suffer for her, and could not bear rule over a peaceful race.

  At first she threatened the munchkins, ensuring she would slaughter their young if they did not become her slaves. They were powerless against the witch and carried out her every bidding, as under her rule their peaceful existence was exchanged for a prisoner’s life. Forced by her hand they would commit unforgivable acts, scouring the other regions for races near extinction so they could be brought to her lair, and their bodies devoured. Content in the dark paradise she’d created, though often bored the witch would randomly torture odd civilians in the square as the others watched. Avatonika revelled in their suffering, though despite their slavery she would catch the odd smiles on the munchkins innocent faces. Soon she banished the gesture, punishing the slightest sign of happiness with scars. After that some of the munchkins tried to revolt, flee the east and escape the witch’s rule in hope of finding refuge. Though it didn’t take long for Avatonika to become suspicious, and soon enough almost all of them were caught.