OZ

тнε мσтнεя σғ cяσωs

-- Six Years Ago --

The familiar gloomy walls of the castle welcomed the Witch home. She would have to move quickly, to take control before those three oafs could take the Wizard's place as the rulers of Oz.

But how?

How could she take control of such a large city when she only had monkeys and crows at her command? All of her magic and she only had a bunch of dumb animals! They could never do anything right.

She would need more power, someone with connections; someone within the Emerald City. The munchkins? No. They would be all too happy to see her dead. The guards?  No. The animals and other creatures? Maybe. She could build up her army and lay siege on the city. She sighed as she flopped down in a chair. No!! They wouldn't work either. Her only allies were a bunch of dumb animals! They, like the monkeys, would never be able to get anything right.

The only people that would get her what she wanted were the Lion, the Tinman, and the Scarecrow. But they were in league with Dorothy. They would never help her gain control. Unless...

That's it!

The Witch summoned three of her crows, whispering a message quickly, sending them off into the cornfields.

________________________________________

The Scarecrow strolled through his fields, whistling a happy tune, content to let the Tinman take care of the Emerald City. When Dorothy left, he, the Lion, and the Tinman struck a deal with each other. The Tinman would control the city, the industry aspect of Oz; the Lion would have control of the jungles and forests; the Scarecrow would control agriculture. Each man comfortable in his own element, they hoped to make the country run as smoothly as possible.

Oz was doing better than it had ever been before-no witches, no flying monkeys, and no crows. Scarecrow was especially happy about that. Until Dorothy had killed the Wicked Witch, crows had terrorized his fields, mocking him, laughing at him, and he, never able to get down from his pole, had to deal with it day in and day out.

THUMP! Click, click, click.

This weird series of sounds caught his attention and he took off running. Still a bit clumsy from being trapped on a pole for years and years, Scarecrow stumbled through the corn until he reached the source of the sound.

Three crows sat atop a bloated form, a pool of blood seeping into the dirt, a rope around the body's neck.  The swollen face, purple features, and dirty suit gave him pause.

I know this man.

Click, click, click.

The crows' claws tapped slowly on the buttons of the man's jacket as the Scarecrow stepped closer cautiously. Every step that brought him closer to the body filled him with dread, and the crows began to whisper at him incoherently. They sounded scared, urgent. He had never really been able to understand their language, but he could always understand their tone of voice. This time, however, was different. Their words came to him clearly, getting louder and louder with each word until they were practically yelling.