Dorothy considered the consequences of her actions.
It troubled her greatly, and
she struggled to accept what had happened.
The small black dog that she clutched to her breast, offered a modicum of comfort. She stroked his head and worried the hollows behind his ears with her finger tips.
“Oh my, Oh my,” was all she could say. It became a mantra.
She hadn’t come here to melt the wicked witch. It just happened.
Like one of those pancake mixes her Auntie Em liked so much. You know the ones –
“Just add water.”
Dorothy knew that she’d eventually come to terms with it all.
She just needed some space, and some time to think. Uncle Henry might recommend a good therapist.
Maybe… when she got back to Kansas she’d find peace.
A Monday Writing Prompt generously provided by The Secret Keeper.
Please accept my apologies for barging in. I had fun.