Disclaimer: The characters and places mentioned in this viggie belong to L. Frank Baum, though most events referred to belong to Gregory Maguire. Parts from both the book and the musical are here, and in some cases some lines are taken directly from the book and musical. Of course, what the Gillikense are singing is from "No One Mourns the Wicked", and Elphaba's lines are from the book (pages 81 and 177 respectively of the paperback edition of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West) and "Defying Gravity" of musical fame. Lines taken from the musical belong to Stephen Schwartz. No money is being made by the following three page vignette.
The line in the summary is taken from page 404 of the paperback edition.
She died alone...
No one but us ever knew what really happened on that day in the Emerald City – to this day, no one knows. After all, that was the objective, wasn't it? To protect both of us, no one could know. And still, no one but me knows, and I am forced to go on alone with the knowledge.
No one knows the choice that was presented to us that day, about our path that ultimately forked. There was no going straight, no remaining who we were. There was no way of knowing where each branch lead to, what darkness or light it passed through, what obstacles were in the way. Yet somehow, someway, we knew instinctively which branch of the path was for us.
But was it really? We were so young, then. Young and stupid. How could we have possibly known? Neither road ended up where we thought it would. Although I can't say I'm completely unhappy with where I am now, it's not bliss, either. I mean, "Glinda the Good"? Please – give me something less... alliterated. I've adoring subjects who see a pretty face, a social spirit, an empty head. I'm not as stupid as I used to be, yes, but who would ever know? Whether I'm protecting myself, it's habit, or it's nostalgia, I don't know. I don't really care either. I don't admire who I was in my first year at Shiz, don't mistake me.
In any case, I think it's more protection than anything else. Protection against the world, somehow. Don't ask me to puzzle out who or what it's protection from. It's enough to know it is. Just leave it there. It's a façade that I always wear – there's not much shame in that, I think. All politicians, leaders, figureheads and the like have worn facades. It's not about aptitude; it's the way you're viewed. I know it now, I knew it at Shiz. At times it's been a blessing, at times I wish I'd never carried on with it. It's never faltered, not even today. Today, when bells ring and echo over all of Oz, and everyone sings and dances and cries with relief and joy.
"Now at last there's joy throughout the land!"
Not here, I think numbly. There's a large window in my room next to my bed that has the most glorious view. It looks out over a part of the Yellow Brick Road directly next to a forest of sorts. You can't even see the road unless you look directly down. The forest doesn't go on for very far – it ends after about four acres, and you can see rolling hills beyond it. It's perfect for watching sunsets, as it faces directly west. I carefully light a fat white candle on its sill and gaze out of it now, basking in the candle's glow as I watch the waning crescent moon rise over the Vinkus. The candle's light pushes against the darkness, and if I don't focus on the other side of the window, I can see my own reflection in the glass – a petite frame, but growing steadily more rotund around the middle, as much as I claim otherwise, clothed in a rather unexpensive and unfashionable white satiny nightgown; a clear, pale face with features sharpening more every year surrounded by a halo of perfectly blonde curls. The soft glow of the candle against the dark night compliments my mood perfectly.
"If you care to find me, look to the western sky..."
How strange memory works – it's been over twenty years since that day, and still, I can so clearly remember her saying that... it's an image forever imprinted in my memory. If I close my eyes right now, I can see her just as she was then as she said it... beautiful shining black hair falling out of her bun at the back of her head, hat askew, green skin almost glowing and vibrant with excitement, eyes alight with triumph. I doubt she ever suspected what an impact those words had on me or how many times I've looked out to the western sky as she instructed.
I sigh. How many times had our history professors at Shiz prattled on and on about the importance of it all, how even the smallest of events or actions could drastically affect it's delicate course? Treaties, documents, envoys, purchases.... or someone choosing a different road?
"Well? Are you coming?"
Had I given a different answer... what would have happened?
"You are thinking!"
I don't want to be. All it's doing is dredging up old memories and regrets I'd hoped and wished were completely buried. I can't handle them, not here, not now. I close my eyes, shutting out the bright moon. There was a reason I chose this room with this window, but I'd never tell her that.
"No one mourns the wicked."
She shouldn't have become wicked. If I'd gone with her – If I hadn't gone back –
No. Don't be so self-centered, I tell myself sternly. You weren't the only factor here, girl.
Yes – but I was certainly a large one, my guilty voice moans back.
No. She wasn't wicked. Sad, bitter – yes. Not wicked. Never wicked. Popular thought is getting to me, even. It can't happen. It must not happen, lest I forget.
She wasn't wicked. Strong, now. She was broken. A broken, bitter parody of who she was. Who she should have been.
"No one cries 'They won't return!'"
Strange. Am I no one? Or was she not wicked? This thought comforts me, somewhat.
"No one lays a lily on their grave."
She has no grave. She hated lilies.
"The wicked's lives are lonely – the wicked die alone..."
She died alone... my heart thuds dully in response to the Gillikinese's songs drifting up to my room, somehow getting through the closed window. Their misconception of her evilness stems from that same moment in the Emerald City, like just about everything else. All our regrets, all misconceptions, all mistakes stem from that moment. It all can be traced back to one horrid moment. All of the same regrets, misconceptions, and mistakes have been carried too far. Much too far...
"Tell them I kidnapped you and made you come here, they'll believe that of me...kiss me goodbye... take a message back for me – tell them how I'm defying gravity..."
Her words swirl around in my head. Unlike the other moment, I can't quite picture her as she says them, and I can't remember in what order she said them. Why couldn't I make her see she was having delusions of grandeur? my heart aches. Madame Morrible was ready for just that opportunity, it seems, to exploit Elphie's supposed reputation. As it was, it wasn't good. Then, with all the new and extremely false information added to it, as well as the fact that she had gone underground, as if hiding, she was branded. She was marked. Nothing could save her – not herself, not me, not even the Wizard.
Not that he wanted to.
"I hope you're proud how you would grovel in submission just to feed your own ambition!"
I disgust myself at times. But here I am.
What if I'd given her a different excuse? Found a way to protect her from afar, if I couldn't – or wouldn't – do it by her side? It could have been different. We could have been happy. I had three days to think about it in the carriage back to Shiz. I didn't have to spend the whole drive back wallowing in my own misery, hurt, and – unfairly to Elphaba – betrayal. Yet I did. It seemed so unfair to me at the time – I'd given up my status at school with high society to become her friend. She was indeed the best friend I've ever had, and even now, she still is. I grew to love her more than anyone or anything I knew. I would do almost anything for her. And she left me.
But that was unfair to her. She gave me a choice. I didn't take it. "Almost anything" didn't include going down a dangerous and uncertain path. Back then, most everything was about me, me - even if I had somewhat grown out of that once she befriended me. And now, because of that moment, we're where we are right now. Because of me.
Me, me.
"Goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely..."
I reopen my eyes, only to blink away my blurred vision of the moon. My heart feels like it's trying to beat away the numbness surrounding it, or else burst out of it. Sweet Oz...
"Goodness knows the wicked die alone..."
Dear Lurline... it was, wasn't it?
She died alone...Strangled sobs struggle to escape my throat, tearing at my vocal chords – I know it was me. I could have prevented it...
Me, me...
"Good news!"
Each shout is a sharp blow to my chest, and the words and feeling echo myself earlier today when I was forced to announce her death. A joyous celebration.
"I hope you're happy in the end..."
I close my eyes again. I can't breathe.
"Good news!"
Finally I feel my façade begin to crumble and fall. Like her, unable to defy gravity.
Is she defying gravity, yet?
"If you care to find me - "
I collapse next to my window, helplessly sobbing to the western sky. Its moon shines on and around me, reassuring me.
"Kiss me goodbye – I'm defying gravity..."
I'm hoping this one makes sense, with the italics and the bold. The centered italics are what Glinda remembers Elphaba saying. The bold and centered italics are the Gillikenese's songs Glinda hears throughout the viggie. The non-centered italics are Glinda's thoughts.
No, I don't know if Elphaba really hated lilies or if "Gillikenese" is the correct term. :)
Constructive critisism and reviews are very welcome. :D