#and Dorothy has basically gone mad with power and is committing all sort of fairy rights violations

[mixelation]

I've been reading Danielle Paige's Dorothy Must Die, which is sort of.... hmm I knew I was going to have problems with it because I loved the Oz books too much as a kid and have a lot of Opinions... but so far it's okay! I just have to remind myself it's an SI fic* with an editor and everything seems better....!

*SI in that it's a modern world person who's consumed canon falling into the canon's world, not that I think Paige based the main character on herself

#Dorothy Must Die is about a girl named Amy Gumm from modern Kansas falling into Oz #this Oz-- as far as i can tell-- is after the original 14 books and something has happened to Ozma #and Dorothy has basically gone mad with power and is committing all sort of fairy rights violations #and Amy gets drafted to kill her by a group of rebellious witches #i'm about 1/3 through and most of the book is just people explaining things to amy #and also you can tell dorothy has gone evil because she dresses Slutty #it annoys me that the back of the book says Amy has read all the books but she CLEARLY hasn't #false advertising

[devanhadlock]

Last night around 8:25pm in a sleepy village in the stradfordshire moorlands of the United Kindgom I escaped under the cover of night from the old rectory home of a nutty English woman. This is the story of what led up to the moment where I throwing my bags together and kissing my two Italian co-captives farewell before running off into the darkness with just hope enough to light my path out of my personal Stockholm and back to freedom. In coming to the United Kingdom exactly one week ago for my first ever workaway experience I had every expectation to be pleasantly surprised. I now realize I had totally imagined being taken into some warm embryonic mist of the motherland of some of my ancestors. That this great island of Avalon would bless me with some magical experience of coming home. I imagined warm English breakfasts and naps on the backs of giant shire horses as they walked through the crisp layers of mist that flow across this ancient land like rivers of ghosts lit by the glow of their fairy souls. I did not imagine I’d be starving, for company and for food, and that I’d risk frostbite on my toes each time I awoke and ventured out of my stone room to take a piss in the middle of the night. I didn’t imagine feeling so much anxiety all the time at the prospect of our host showing up or of having to spend even one more day there. Anyway I got the fuck out. As I sit here in my makeshift bed on the ground of the single most filthy apartment I have EVER seen but under the warm hospitable blanket of one of the sweetest gentlemen I’ve ever met I wonder and I write. With itchy eyes and sputtering coughs as I suck in the balls of dog hair that float about in lieu of fairies and friendly ghost orbs I listen to Taveners beautiful choral piece that was written and played at Princes Dianna’s funeral “Alleluia. May Flights of Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest”. A more perfect score of my momentary reprieve doeth not exist and I make solemn my promise to record henceforth the soul of some of my journey. How to make sense of this already harried and frenetic tale. Going back one week ago when I arrived to the Airport in Salt Lake City, Utah. Carrying a rare methuselah bottle of hope I dug up in the vintage cellar of my soul sometime in the recent past and maybe two gallon size bags stuffed with vitamins and herbal supplements I found my way to the security line. A look of stern and stubborn determination etched onto my face I walked in the broken procession towards the X-ray death machine. Of course I was pulled aside and asked about the 5 thousand pills of various size and color I had on me but it was the abundance of skin care products that ended up being the real problem. Apparently more that a one quart bag of properly labeled and sized liquid toiletries is too much. If TSA isn’t a sure sign of how backwards we got everything in the world right now I don’t know what is. Anyway my choice was to toss my highly valuable products and basically let my face melt into its true age over the next couple weeks or check on a bag. Something I really didn’t want to do but was basically forced at gunpoint. Getting in the air for my grand adventure wasn’t all cupcakes and rainbows. In my rush to salvage my precious pills and toiletries by checking them I didn’t clarify that I was going to London after JFK so my bag would have to be retrieved and checked again before boarding the next plane. I stress about these sorts of things so was having all sorts of physical symptoms of major anxiety for that flight. Thankfully two Jet Blue stewardesses were there to sooth my soul and guide me through what I’d have to do to get my bag and such. After many hours I made it to London where my host was graciously waiting to pick me up and take me home with her. My first impression wasn’t so bad and I was blissfully hopeful that my journey was off to all the right outcomes. Quickly though things changed when upon arrival I found two other workawayers there with looks of foreboding secrets written all over their faces. Still I went to bed that first night in the freezing cold 200 year old home all smiles and dreamy imaginings. That next day while cleaning out farm sheds and scrubbing dog shit off the pavement with brooms and washing it away with dozens of hand filled buckets of water all in the bitter wet cold wind I got to question these girls and gather information. They too had been pulled in by the quick responses from this host, the magical photos of her old world home and beautiful animals and perfect ratings from past workawayers. They were miserable and had fully regretted there coming to stay. They told me to find a plan B! Unlike most hosts who provide home cooked meals on all the days you work this lady eats like an old spinster bird by herself high up in her room above all of us and stocked the fridges and freezers with expired food she bought at great discounts according to the tags she left on all of them. Her moments of interaction overly chirpy and insanely expressive barely covering like a thin veil the volatility and social strain underneath. She did her best and I’ve edited this post greatly over the last two days to be sure that I could commit to whatever level of drama I was caught up in within myself, as regularly happens. Alas I toned it down. Still though the choice to leave for me came like a burst of lightening while sitting in my room in front of a floor heater mulling over the importance of preserving ones sanity. Upon finding the last bus to be coming through that sleepy village in only 30 minutes I rapidly set about preparing and planning my escape. Which included a serious text to my new online friend cashing in on his offer to provide sanctuary should this sort of moment arrive. Our host arrived just then which made my escape even harder but I made my way down the dark stone staircase with all of my bags while my Italian girlfriends distracted her in the kitchen. I was determined to not spend not one more night where I felt so uneasy, depressed and hungry. I slipped on the stairs and bruised my arm catching myself on the hard stone. Thinking for a moment of all the things I’d like to clean up or get done before I leave like any good Guest but decided instead to not be sabotaged. My heart beating in my chest and nervous system in flight I had flashbacks of my years of delinquency and devious behavior in my youth where my brain not fully developed basically left me at the mercy to more crude forms of navigation. Not always a bad thing mind you! It was exhilarating and I felt alive! Our host could appear in my path at any moment or scream out like a siren behind me like all the heads of Momba do in “Return to Oz” when Dorothy has been discovered as an intruder in the closet of the mad witch queen and escaping from her palatial prison. Anyway I got away, leaving only a simple note on my bed saying goodbye and thank you. I’m rather pleased time left me only enough time for succinct writings. It felt more elegant somehow. Fast forward two hours later and I’m at another stranger’s house on Stoke on Trent expect this time the feeling is of instant warmth. I was given warm food and made generous offers of where I might sleep and kept up almost all night by fun and interesting conversation. The apartment turned out to be the filthiest apartment I’ve perhaps personally ever seen but inspired by such genuine warmth and hospitality from someone who only knew me for three days and online I felt more that excited to get to work doing something I’m brilliant at. Cleaning and organizing. Runs in my blood. So that’s what I did for ten hours today. Cleaned half of this place up to a mint shine better than when he moved in. That’s what he said anyway. Also as a side not his dog is handsome and brilliant and all the confirmation I needed that I was in the right place! My hope in humanity is restored and my opinion of this country has gone from negative 2 to a positive 8 out of 10. That’s the power of true hospitality and perhaps a dose of saying yes to thoughtless but pivotal action. Till next time