There is No Place Like Home

Part 1: Dorothy and the Gun

Dorothy had never stabbed anyone in her life.

"St-stay back!" She yelled at the masked man, "Don't come any closer!"

The man chuckled, "Listen, kid, I don't wanna hurt you. Just put the knife down and you can come with me peacefully!" He reached into his pocket and whipped out a pistol.

Dorothy would have loved to correct the man about her age (she was very small for a seventeen year old) but she didn't need something else to think about. She quickly look behind her at the bodies of her Aunt and Uncle, both bleeding profusely. She nearly vomited right on the kitchen floor.

Dorothy grasped the knife tighter. She turned back to the man who had broken in, his burlap bag full of knick knacks and money. There was a mirror just behind him, which blinded her slightly in the fleeting evening sunlight.

"Just put it down ..." the man began to step closer.

Dorothy's brow was soaked with sweat. None of the farmhands were on duty in the evening, leaving her all alone. Her family dead.

"Please!" Dorothy pleaded. The mirror captured the last bit of sun, and Dorothy heard the pitter-patter of rain. And suddenly there was ... a rainbow? A bird perched on the windowsill of the broken window, tweeting a repetitive tune.

Dorothy stared at the bird, her heart racing and her mind a heap of questions. She just wanted the burglar to shoot her already, to get it done. So she wouldn't be alone.

The man noticed her staring and turned around, "What are you fucking looking at?"

Dorothy snapped to her senses. She took the knife and, with a huge gulp of air, plunged the blade into his shoulder. She stabbed his back three more times. Three vicious, vengeful, frightening, times. He collapsed onto the ground in a bundle of dark clothes, his face contorted with anguish.

Dorothy snatched up the pistol and aimed quickly. She pointed it at his head, ready to kill him. She could've done it so easily. Just a pull of a simple trigger, but Dorothy looked into the mirror one more time. It had to have been a trick of the light. It had to have been the utter panic.

Glinda was standing right next to her in the reflection of the mirror. Her kind eyes told Dorothy everything. To put it down. To let it be.

Dorothy looked beside her. There was no Glinda.

Dorothy felt the tears in her eyes. She couldn't tell why she was crying yet, "God dammit!" She shut her eyes and pulled the trigger.

The blast went off.

The gun jumped back a little in her hands.

Dorothy opened her eyes.

She shot him in the stomach.

Dorothy peered into the mirror one last time. No Glinda. She ran to her Aunt and Uncle's sides and knelt down, their bodies still warm. She flipped them over onto their backs and caressed their vacant faces. Their skin color was nonexistent. Blood painted Dorothy's palms as she tried to stop the bleeding.

"Auntie Em? Uncle Henry?" Dorothy sobbed, "Don't be dead! Please! Wake up!"

They never did.

Dorothy stood and ran outside. The rain began to downpour  and it was growing very dark. The roads were muddy and slippery. Just then, a truck swerved into the driveway of the farm. The farmhands! Hunk and Zeke and Hickory!

"Hickory! Zeke!" Dorothy ran towards them, her feet sinking in the mud, "There's a man inside! He killed Aunt Em and Uncle- WooOAAaHh!"

"Dorothy?" Hunk called out, "Are you out here?"

Dorothy smacked right into the ground, knocking the air out of her. She struggled to stand, but mud sloshed over her feet and prevented her from moving. Shivering, Dorothy gained back her breath and tried scream and shout, but the loud rain drowned out her squealing voice.

"Please! Zeke! Hickory! Hunk!" Dorothy clawed at the mud before giving up and nearly passing out.

The little bird hopped to the side of her head and sang the same song. Dorothy felt herself growing very tired and cold. It wasn't long until she succumbed to her weariness and let the bird's song ring through her ears.

The morning sun was so warm compared to the freezing rain. A sweet, strong smell of blubells, daisies, and roses wafted to Dorothy's nose, and she savored the aromas for a moment.

"Dorothy?" A voice as light as air sounded, "Oh good, Dorothy, you're here! It is so good to see you!" A figure stood over Dorothy. Blonde, billowing curls framed the heart shaped face of who could only be the Witch of the North.

Glinda.