6

Houses are being built up high, blocking Dorothy’s view of the Emerald City. Will she ever get there, find home?
The sun seemed to have trouble rising this morning, but she did not. Eight o’clock and the boy was still up, whiskied-out. She could not help and even if she could he would still walk away. For now she’ll have to do with raw smiles on the faces of balloon men at lunchtime.
~~
Attraction, that’s what Dorothy needed. To attract something or someone; to shake her insecurities, emotional wreckage built over time and rainbows… but then again wasn’t that why she ventured out in the first place?
She thought of bumpy hills, rockied mountains, roads that snaked along never ending; never finding happiness. In her mind her journey was one of self-undiscovery. And so, as she thought, she got. Unhappiness overwhelmed. No thank you again and again. She had a choice.
Calling the wicked witch unto her, she let evil torment, infest her thoughts, flourish in its new found home—her closing mind. Where was Christopher’s mythical mushroom god when she needed him? Please. But to no avail.
What she saw on summer nights, sticky flesh sapping mosquitoes in their wake of nourishing bliss-hiving stems slender and bone, what she saw in her mind became in her hand. Palms outstretched, extending from arms bowing under pressure, lashing out in pain—was struggle, suffering she could not whelm-in. The flesh of the Earth she had planted the seed and with one small thought it began to grow wild, relentless; life in a deadening state.
Paralleled with magnetism only to Dorothy’s mind, the wicked witch had manifested herself to life, overwhelming goodness and love.

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