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“Good news! She’s dead!”
As much as I wanted to scream and shout about how wrong they are, about how someone dying should never be celebrated. Especially not someone as wonderful as Elphaba.
“The Witch of the West is dead! The wickedest witch there ever was, the enemy of all of us here in Oz is dead!”
And what made her the enemy? That she was the only one brave enough to stand up against someone everyone admired? That she was the only one who would rather stand alone in the right than follow the crowd in the wrong?
“Good news! Good news!”
God how wrong they are. That’s enough.
“Look! It’s Glinda!”
Thank god they sound excited to see me, that’s good. I need to keep up that kind of morale.
“Fellow Ozians:”
Make relationship, make it clear I’m one of them, I belong with the villagers.
“Let us be glad, let us be grateful, let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue. The wicked workings of you know who.”
As much as every word only tore me apart more, only made the tears press my eyes further, I kept going. I need them to believe I’m on their side, they’ll never listen to someone who outright admits that their ‘Wicked Witch’ was right all along. I can’t let them doubt that I’m on their side, doubt leads to hate and hate leads to murder. Clearly.
“Isn’t it nice to know that good will conquer evil?”
Isn’t it devastating that that isn’t true? That though good can not be completely killed of, that evil can in fact conquer, and keep good hidden and at bay?
“The truth we all believe’ll by and by outlive a lie for you and - ”
They cut of off, they’re too blind. How can I ever help them see how wrong they are if they can’t even listen?
“No one mourns the wicked.”
That’s true, no one does. None of the villagers mourn the ‘wicked’ Elphaba they think they know, and neither am I. I’m not mourning anyone wicked, I don’t mourn the idea the villagers made of her. I’m mourning the loss that could have been. But now isn’t the time for that.
“No one cries ‘they won’t return!’”
They don’t deserve for her to return. They don’t deserve someone so utterly good and brave and strong. And neither do I, I could never deserve her.
“No one lays a lily on their grave.”
She doesn’t deserve a lily, no, she deserves fields upon fields. Fields she’ll never get.
“The good man scorns the Wicked! Through their lives, our children learn what we miss when we misbehave.”
That’s true, the good should scorn the wicked. They should all be scorning each other, yet they hate upon the most good person to have ever lived here. These children are going to grow up manipulated to believe the Ozians, and they will be the same. It’s a vicious cycle that if anyone tries to break, they’ll only be ostracized. It’s how the wicked stay wicked without repercussion, just kick out anyone who stands up against you and manipulate everyone else to stand with you.
“And goodness knows the wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked die alone. It just shows when you’re wicked you’re left only on your own.”
Maybe it’s no the wicked who are alone, it’s easy to be wicked when you have others to side with you. What’s hard is to be good and stand all alone. What’s impossible is to be alone and good and have everyone call you wicked for being brave enough to stand by yourself.
“Yes, goodness knows the wicked's lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked cry alone. Nothing grows for the Wicked, they only reap what they’ve sown.”
You create a toxic city, you only raise toxic people. You banish everyone with different ideas than you, you’re left with a conforming society that no one dares step out of line. You accuse everyone different than you of being wicked, you lose any chance of a new kind of good coming.
“Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?”
Or do they have the idea of wickedness thrust upon them despite their true nature, because hating someone and ostracizing them is easier than accepting and getting to know them?
“After all, she had a father, she had a mother, as so many do.”
Reciting the tale of her birth, all I could do was hope that they could see she was just like them. She is just like them.
“And of course, from the moment she was born, she was, well, different.”
That it wasn’t her fault for her skin color, it was out of her control. She should have never been discriminated against. I was wrong too, it’s not just the other Ozians. I was wrong but I learned, and so can they.
“So you see, it couldn’t have been easy!”
But were they ever really listening in the first place? Did they ever really care what anyone else has to say?
“No one mourns the wicked! Now at last, she’s dead and gone! Now at last, there’s joy throughout the land.”
Can they not see how absolutely sick it is to find joy in death? To be happy in what should be a heartbreaking time? In what is, in actuality, heartbreaking, yet they are too blind to see?
“And goodness knows, we know what goodness is.”
I would say that I’ve never heard such a blatant lie. But it’s not really a lie if everyone believes it, now is it? It just makes it a wrong truth.
“Goodness knows, the wicked die alone. She died alone. Woe to those who spurn what goodness they are shown. No one mourns the wicked.”
How can they not see the cruel irony?
“Good news! No one mourns the wicked! Good news! No one mourns the wicked! Wicked! Wicked!”
And they never will, nor should they. They should not mourn the evil being they made Elphaba out to be, they should mourn the loss are getting to know someone so good. But they can’t see that, they don’t know how good she was. I didn’t even see that right away, but why can’t I be an example? If I could change, can’t they? If I recount our story, Elphaba and mine, then they can see who she really was. They can see how good she was.
And even if they can’t, it still buys time and that’s what I need to do. I need as much time as possible. Even if I can’t redeem Elphaba’s memory, I can at least help ensure her future.
Recounting our tale, I knew they were not listening. Even as I poured every bit of me into my words, they did not even pretend not to continue to celebrate. But did I really expect less? With my story complete, solidifying the details of Elphaba’s death, I left. It’s not like they’ll miss me, I’m only making waves in a city terrified to flood. Where’s Elphaba when we need tsunamis?
I did all I could, if not even Elphaba can make them change then I had no chance in the first place. At least I have no suspicion, making my leave I immediately recalled the directions Elphaba left me. Upon seeing my girlfriend, that is when I finally let the tears call.
“Elphie,” I smiled through my tears, running over to her, where she hid. “Oh Elphie, I did all I could but it wasn’t enough,” I admitted after I pulled her into a tight hug.
Holding me close, “it’s okay, at least we’re together.”
I pulled back just enough to be able to look at her beautiful face, “I could never leave you,” before I leaned forward into a soft kiss.