The Wicked Summers of Oz
Disclaimer- Well cliché disclaimer: don't own Buffy or wicked which makes me a sad person thing. they are own by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Buffy) and by L. Frank Baum (the world of Oz) Gregory McGuire (Wicked-Book), Stephen Schwarts (Wicked Musical Lyrics) and Winnie Holzman (Wicked Playbook) - story is almost true to the Buffy verse, had to bend time a bit to fit in the present. and the Wicked verse is Booksical, leaning a bit towards the book more often than not. Characters like Glinda's 'parents' and grandparents (Grenavie, Gaslond, Grejor, Genav as well as some other characters not mentioned any where in the land of oz brought to you by the original authors will belong to me. I’ll try to put them in other disclaimers if they are mine or borrowed (with the permission of the creator if needed) so Don't sue, I have a very large Veterinary bill that can't be put aside for court issues.
Summary: What if Hank Summers (Buffy Summer’s Dad) is working for Wolfram & Hart? What if he gets sent to look for the Grimoire (or Grimmerie in OZ Speak) a year and four months before Buffy died in season 5, but on his path to finding it gets sent to Oz where it's located and that's why he was absent during Joyce's sickness? What if Joyce didn't die? What if during his time employed with WR&H he learned a little magik? What if when he arrived in Oz he landed in the Gillikin Forest? What if he met Galinda's family? What if he fell in love with Galinda's Mom? What if five years later on his travels he passed by Rush Margins and gave some green elixir to a woman named Melena? What if nine months after that he becomes the Wonderful Wizard of Oz? What if time travels faster in oz than in earth? What if a year and four months after the wizard crashes in oz, a blonde slayer who jumped into a portal, thinking of her sister to the very end, had her body vanish when the portal closed? What if the portal mistook her lasts thoughts and regrets on not being able to be there for her younger sister, transported her to oz to be a part of her 'younger siblings' life? Too many what if!!!!!!!!!!! But that's what makes this story!
The sound of a body craking wooden crates echoed throughout a warehouse. Through a warehouse window you can easily spot more than a dozen shadows moving through, silhouetted by some candles and forgotten flashlights on the floor and also by a crafty magik light; that two witches were maintaining all the while firing some telekinetic forces to keep any vamps from attacking their friends from behind. The fighting although reckless and sloppy seemed to be flawless to anyone who really tried to find flaws.
In one corner three humans were going through the motions of the fight with the sense of trying to not engage the vampires they fought longer than they should. Like a well oiled machine the tall young man and an older man would fight a vamp, when one would fall the other took over and it went back and forth, dazing it, and then pushing it to young woman next to them who would receive it with a well placed stake through the heart. This tactic worked well because the soulless creatures were not focusing on them but on two blonde powerhouses.
The tall bleached blonde, Billy Idol wannabe, was surrounded by three of his brethren trying to rip his head off. The blonde man would duck, roll, block, throw in some quick punches and needing to receive some of the hits to then fallow in yet again with some punch-kick-backhand combos with the grace of a street brawler. When his lust of the fight with an unlucky vamp ended he would stake the vampire so a less beaten comrade would take its place. It was a pretty good system he had working and since it wasn’t failing him he used it to get a good kill; with out a stake, so he would rip throats, slash and hack with his bare hands, taking out his frustrations that build ever since he was denied the fun of killing humans he so enjoyed to play with. So with his game face on this neutered vampire continued his routine until he heard a body going through aluminum and sheet rock and her name cried out by the witches; and the smell of wood going up in flames. This was his cue to make fast work of the vamps.
About twenty feet from the bleached blonde vampire another blonde, although shorter than the first by about eight inches, was surrounded by her group of about five vampires that were attracted to her by her status and wanting to bag themselves a slayer. The vampires were giving the young woman a good workout and soon she began suspecting that maybe some of the vampires could be older than the fledglings that were being dispatch by her friends, when some of them were actually landing some pretty heavy punches to her face. Her style was much different than that of her vampire colleague, where as his was reckless, slow and rougher; hers was smooth, fast and graceful. Well placed punches and kicks made more than one vampire real back in pain at shock of her strength and agility. Her short stature allowed her more freedom in her movements and more speed in her evasions, she would slide to the sides gain footing and kick out to the nearest vampire, and when it fell to the floor she’d roll closer to it and the stake hidden in her sleeve would find its way into the vampire’s chest and back again in her sleeve. Tumbling to the side she’d evade a kick to the head and with a low spinning kick to the knee of the same vampire she shattered it’s knee cap leaving it incapacitated, so she could focus on the other three vampires and the new vampire that stepped in to fill the void of its predecessor that ended up dust mixed with the dirt on the floor.
A couple more combos’ combining various styles of fighting she was able to dispatch two more vampires; turning to meet the other two vampires that were left standing, one of the said vampires had ducked away leaving its partner to fight the slayer. The shaggy haired vampire that was left alone to face her backed away slowly sizing her up while gaining a bit of more time to figure out an escape route that wouldn’t lead him to the rest of her friends and pet vampire. Leaning to the his left attempting to run he saw her fallow his movement and at the last moment before starting to flee he moved right trying to catch her off guard. She saw through his feeble bluff and was about to grab the vamp when a pipe connected to her skull making the blondes sight darken and her legs wobble. The two vampires now stood side by side and with two well aimed kicks to the chest, cracking a rib or two, and the slayers small body flew backwards into some crates holding some candles and straight through the factory’s weak wall.
A chorus of 'Buffy’s!' And 'No’s!' Were heard coming from the slayers four friends and father figure/watcher. The broken crates caught fire easily and soon the nearing crates were also consumed by the fire. The two witches entwined their fingers together and telekinetically threw the two guilty vampires into the hungry flames that began to consume the rest of the warehouse. With the rest dispatching of the vampires that were left by stake or with the help of the fire they ran out of the warehouse with the blonde vampire in the lead afraid of the fire getting to close to him.
Stepping outside into the alley that ran next to the warehouse they started their search for their fallen slayer. When some black trash bags piled together to form a small hill began to move and a hand shot out trying to push a bag away. The redheaded witch and brunette young man, who were closer to the pile, moved quickly toward the moving bags and began throwing of bags off, of their fallen friend.
“Oh, god; Buffy are you okay? Try not to move too much. Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding?” The red head asked.
Groaning the blonde tried to sit up but was held down by the young man. “Yeah Wills I’m okay just a little lightheaded. And my chest feels like if a 600 pound Chirago demon just tapped danced on it. Otherwise, just peachy.” The blonde girl said, coughing a bit, to her best friend and Wicca extraordinaire Willow Rosenberg. Turning to her best male friend Alexander Harris, known by everyone as Xander, she tried to coax him into letting her get up and walk away from the smelly trash; “Xander please, I can get up I’m not that hurt I’ve had worse and I’m starting to smell like the high schools tuna casserole surprise.” As she tries to get up she looks to one of the ripped bags which are dripping something white, pink with a mix of green and yellow tint to it. She recognizes what it is and jumps up away from the bags and groans in pain when the movement made her feel an intense jab in her chest and made her sight blurry. But before the others could get a word in she gets out, “Eeeeewwwww, Ow, but Eeeeewwwww, I just took a dip into mystery tuna casserole. Why is the school throwing their casserole in the warehouse district? Is it really radioactive that they can’t get the dump to take it in without special permission? Ok I’m happy the school blew up. They were poisoning us and that was just plain evil.”
Xander and Willow jump away from Buffy and with the rest look at the thrash bags with disgust and then at Buffy who has some of the same substance hanging from her hair and stained on her clothes; while you can hear a snickering vampire leaning onto a warehouse wall. The others want to help their injured friend; with the exception of the vampire, and ward in the watcher’s case but are weary of the smell and sludge hanging off, of her.
“Xander, get away from her I don’t want you to smell like Traggio slug goo, when you’re giving me orgasms, it’ll ruin the moment.” Said Anya; the ex-vengeance demon who was once known as Anyanka, the Scourge to unfaithful men, and girlfriend to one Xander Harris.
Buffy, Willow, Xander, the watcher and the blonde witch turned to Anya with a bright blush covering their cheeks.
“Anya, sweetie, remember that talk we had about tact and comments that were to stay secret and not be told to our friends? You should be taking that talk into account right now.” The blushing Xander tried to explain to his outspoken girlfriend.
The Watcher, Rupert Giles; mostly known as Giles to his wards and Ripper to his enemies, took off his glasses and after a quick polish put them back on to rest on the bridge of his nose and walked toward his charge keeping a safe distance from the sludge and smell coming off from her. “Ah, yes Buffy, uh do your ribs feel loose or tight? We might as well see if a trip to the uh Hospital is in order. The police and firemen might have been called already and we must leave quickly.”
“Nah, I’m alright no hospital for me today. They’re just bruised and I think only one might be cracked. Nothing a nice; tight bandage won’t fix. So we should just get moving I can hear the sirens getting closer and I already have a count of arson on my record and I don’t think we could explain the fire starting.” Buffy replied tired.
“Okay that makes the total to Buffinator 8, undamaged buildings/property 0.” Her best male friend, joked, who in return earned himself a hefty slayer glare.
“Ah yes well let us go the vehicles then.” Giles said while heading towards where the cars were parked two warehouses over when he turned to Xander and asked, “Xander do you have the emergency tarp in the trunk of your car? I seem to have left mine at home.”
Looking up from his place next to Buffy he replied a bit confused with the fact of what Giles would need with the emergency-the-demon-didn’t-melt-or-exploded-so-we-have-to-roll-it-up-stick-it-in-the-trunk-to-be-chopped-up-burned-or-burried tarp. “Yeah, I always carry it in the back but there weren’t any demons that we killed today? And you say you forgot yours? Okay maybe our reality went up in flames with the flaming warehouse?” he attempted to joke and when nobody joined in he let out.
“What’s the need for the tarp G-Man?”
Rolling his eyes at the use of the nickname that Xander seemed to use time and time again even when being reprimanded by the Watcher; and although he outwardly expressed annoyance at the name, secretly he enjoyed the way the young man, he considered a son gave him a nickname. “Yes well there aren’t any demons but I’ll need to use it to roll Buffy into it if she wants to get into my car. I just had the blood stains removed from the previous week when the Polgara demon slashed her back and arm. And I can’t very well find another excuse to get my seats washed so soon again, without coming out seeming like some sort of serial killer or the other. And well I don’t want to smell that,” points at what Buffy is covered in, “stuff in my car either; I just barely paid off the bloody machine and wouldn’t want to trade it in so soon.”
“Giles,” Buffy starts to whine in a childish voice and tone, “I know I smell but you don’t have to point it out, plus I’m in pain and you’re supposed to coddle me right now, not make me feel disgusting and fat.”
Nearing the car Giles stopped cold at the mention of the last word and stuttered profoundly looking for a response. “I well, uh. I never, that is, never did, I don’t recall t-t-that is ever…”
“Giles take a breath we don’t need you to pass out from stuffy British syndrome.” Xander pats Giles on the back to get him to breathe, “The Buffster here was just teasing you to get you for the whole calling her stinky thing. We all know slayers care about their hygiene even though they spend half their weeks walking through dead things and sewers.” Giles takes a breath and glares at his slayer while she looks at him innocently.
“Yes, Xander, thank you,” he looks at Xander who by now walks away to his car to get the tarp from the trunk. He comes back and hands Giles the tarp; who in turn, turns to Buffy handing it to her, “Now wrap yourself and behave or there won’t be a cookie waiting for you when you get cleaned up.”
The blonde witch, Tara who was silently watching the banter between watcher and slayer looks over to her girlfriend and whispers surprised, “Did Giles just make a joke?”
Willow with a small smile playing on her lips she whispers back, “Yeah every other new moon he cracks one out. You have to wait for the right moment to pay attention or you’ll miss it and will then have to wait another month for it to come out again. It’s very Hayley’s comet of him minus the years.”
Giles turns to the red head and her girlfriend making a distinct clucking noise with his tongue that happens every time he’s annoyed or flustered.
“Ah thank you, Willow, for the commentary on my comedic routine.”
The red head squeaks a bit knowing she was heard. And she heads to Xander’s car followed by the Tara and Anya. The blonde vampire, Spike walked up to the slayer and in his usual cocky tone he said his goodbyes; ignoring the rest of the Scooby’s.
“Well slayer, if you need me to patrol with you, you know where to find me, eh? Just don’t bring the fire, I’m smoking for the both of us and I wouldn’t want to burn you, luv.”
“You’re a pig, Spike!” the disgusted slayer replied.
“Oink, Oink and all that, luv, you know you want the little Spikey to hit home.” He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively before swaging away to do whatever neutered vampires do in their free time.
With a snarl she questions the others, “why do we keep him alive, again?”
“Because he’s neutered and it’s the humane thing to do, like with a cute puppy.” Willow answered the slayer and the others looked at her oddly hearing her compare the big bad vampire to an adorable puppy. “Well not a puppy but he’s physically harmless.”
“Maybe we can cut out his tongue, because you know its harmful and lethal right?” Xander chimed in.
“That won’t reflect, nice unto us if we do that. Aren’t we supposed to be setting an example? That we are supposed to be above petty wickedness.” The blonde sorceress stated.
“Yeah, Tara is right Xander, we’re not petty we’re a force of good.”
The red head glares at her childhood friend and he retracts and suggests magical tape which earns him triple negative nods from both Wicca’s and his girlfriend. As they start getting in the car, Anya starts rambling about how there should be a law that protects ex-demons who have become contributing members of society. The slayer shakes her head and gets in the watcher’s car passenger side with a slight wince and begins imagining heading home and taking an extra long bubble bath. Both vehicles exit the warehouse district through the opposite street that the fire trucks are arriving in, reaching the end of the street a red sports car with the roof top pulled down, turned right heading to Revello Drive. While the pale purple car carrying Xander, Anya, Tara and a redheaded witch who desperately wanted to be anywhere but in that car with a still rambling ex-demon, turned left and headed to the college dormitories to drop of the exhausted witches.
While in Sunnydale, CA time went by slowly, time moved very fast in the wonderful land located over the rainbow; The Wonderful world of OZ. At this moment a man was pulling himself out of a reinforced whicker basket that laid on its side clumsily with the strings attaching the basket to a piece of circular bunched up like cloth. To anyone looking at it for the first time, would be amazed to see such a contraption but to all those who live on earth this would be another run of the mill hot air balloon, that took an emergency crash land in the nearest large enough spot. The man stood looking at the damage the fall made to the basket and the tares sported by the red cloth. With a sigh, he turned around trying to figure out his surroundings all the while trying to remember how it was that he lost control of the balloon and how exactly he survived the fall he took after he fell unconscious. What he does remember is that he needs help and he needs a place to rest his weary and bruised body. Taking out the compass he carried with him; out of the left pocket of his khaki vest, he wore under a dark duster, especially bought for his ballooning trip; he notices the small crack on its surface from his, landing on it. Turning carefully in a circle he noticed that it is still in working condition; turning south he noticed a wide path leading to a small clearing, he turned back to the wreck and he begins to pick up some necessities and sticking them in his backpack. The stuff that had survived the fall lay surrounding the fallen balloon giving him not so easy pickings.
In his backpack he had two changes of clothes and his toiletries; toothbrush, toothpaste, razors, shaving cream, two bottles of shampoo and a bar of soap. With this already in the pack, he looked for the small box that was given to him in France by an old sorcerer, who had told him he was to keep the box and pouch with him at all times. Finding the box still in one piece he bent down on one knee to check the contents and remembers that the six green bottles containing some liquid in them labeled, Green Elixir, are not the only things he went to France for; actually they weren’t why he went to France in the first place. He actually went there to look for more information on a book he was sent to Spain to find and retrieve. Finding the sources he found and was given drying up one after the other he was told to head to the edge of France were he would find a sorcerer that would have the information he might be looking for. Being there so close to the border of France he decided to purchase a balloon and take in the scenery of the forests and the quaint villages that still existed in the new and ever changing modern world.
It took him a while longer than it would of with a plane or even a car, what with the lack of modern paved roads leading into the villages, but he got there and asking around in a seedy pub he found the address of the sorcerer he was looking for. With that task done he asked the proprietor of the pub if he could refill the tank in the balloon, since he had no idea where that task could be fulfilled in the unknown village. He then asked for directions that could lead him to the man they called Le Sorcier. He was told to rent a guide and a horse, and of course he left a generous amount of Euros for his troubles.
He went to a nearby horse handler to rent out a guide and a horse for his trip into the deep woods where he could find the source he was sent to. The man he had hired as a guide seemed to be the only willing soul in that village willing to take him far into the woods, close enough to get to the cottage without so as to not get lost going to and fro, from there. The path they took was easy enough, at least for the first hour, after that the path disappeared and they seemed to end up at an entrance into a forest or at least that’s what it looked like to him. The trees seemed to be scattered about at first but as the light of the sun seemed to start fading the further they went in, the trees started ending up being tighter together, to the point where he started to believe that they were forming a protective wall around whatever was living deep in that forest.
The deeper they got in seemed that paranoia was setting in, out the corner of his eyes he saw small shadows darting all over the grounds of the forest and climbing and jumping to and from trees. Yet every time he tried to catch a better glimpse, the shadows would disappear and yet he would feel gazes burning into him as if there really was something out there looking at him. He wanted to ask the guide if he felt the gazes or he saw the shadows but bit his tongue not wanting to seem insane or paranoid, which he started to believe he was.
When the trees seemed to grow even closer together the guide stopped his horse turned to the man and told him that, that was the end of where he, the horses or any other sane being would travel and as if to prove the guide correct the horses began to shuffle slightly and neighing in distress. The man got off of the horse while the guide took the reigns to control the horse a bit and not have it buckle his employer. Once off he walked closer to the tight knitted trees and turned to the guide as if to ask him how he was to find the cottage hidden behind the wall of trees, looking to the man on the horse he saw its gaze going past him and landing on something or some one behind him. Turning around he saw that the trees had somehow parted a bit to allow him a straight path into the deeper forest, gaping at the now formed path he closed his mouth and turned yet again to the guide and he still saw his gaze staring behind him but it wasn’t staring at the now opened path as he had first thought but at something lower behind him.
He turned his gaze at where the guide was staring; looking down behind him he found a group of about four vertically challenged men staring at him with knowing eyes. His first instinct was step backwards and run, but after years of employment at the firm, that seemed inclined into sending him into indescribable scenarios where he met a variety of different beings, which allowed him to push down that first survival instinct. Nowadays he seemed to try to recognize and place the other beings to decipher if the ‘things’ in his presence were going to kill him or be helpful.
And by looking at these small creatures he identified them as ‘gnomes;’ there were no pointy hats or tobacco pipes or other stereotypical signs to point out to them being gnomes but their height and the eyes. Gnomes are not beings that have expressive or emotional eyes as would elves or maybe wood sprites, no gnome’s eyes were always expressive but with the eyes of their master. All their eyes had the same look, the same stare that would tell you who they are and what they want channeling the puppeteers eyes because that’s what they were in the magic world; Puppets. And what they wanted was for him to follow them, into the path ‘they’ cleared form him, and he would be a novice to not know that the invitation wasn’t optional. He fallowed them and the light seemed almost non existent now and he was wondering how everything still looked lighted as if the sun wasn’t being blocked by the massive amount of tall trees that still surrounded him. The gnomes suddenly stopped making him almost step on them while he was lost in thought, but quick reflexes saved him from having to explain to their master how he ended with gnomes under his shoes.
Looking at the clearing the small creatures took him to, he noticed that the light that seemed to light up the tight knitted forest was nothing other than the same magik that seemed to posses the little guards he almost inadvertently ran over.
He walked to the cottage that seemed surrounded by little lumps of what appeared to be mounds of dirt that almost covered the front lawn and its surroundings. Following the path that was left cleared by the mounds of dirt he looked at the cottage it lead to, the small wooden home was nothing special, it looked almost like a wooden cabin, that is if cabins had its outside covered in what looked like a layer of dry red colored dirt, to give the small abode, more of a smoother surface. The door and the two windows that were visible escaped the attempt of mud decoration and were left in their original setting; wood. The roof seemed to be made of wood as well but to give the top more of a curvy look to it, whoever built the cottage covered the top with threaded leaves into a woven net made of dried tree vines draped over a few pieces of broken wood stacked to form a short triangle. It looked very much how he imagined the hidden cottage would look, that is except for the mounds of dirt surrounding it, he couldn’t imagine what someone would try to burry into so many holes. Walking up the path he neared the door and lifted his fist to knock when the door opened and an old man stood there with a small knowing smile on his face. He lowered his hand and was about to speak when the old man beat him to it.
“Ah, Master Summers, I was expecting you. I hope my small friends didn’t frighten you, they can at times be more curious than I can seem to control. Especially with these little guards that surround my humble home.”
The old man finished saying as he motioned to the little lumps of dirt. Looking at down at what he had at first thought to be dirt, were actually more hunched gnomes that seemed to be guarding their masters home. Looking back at the old man and at then again at the little critters the visitors mind caught up with itself and turned to the man yet again.
“How did you know my surname? I don’t recall giving it to you?”
“Oh technicalities, Master Summers, I was waiting for you to come looking for me. I know what you’re looking for but you won’t find it here. No, the tome you’re looking for; has long been gone. It…” stops mid-sentence to steps backwards making room for Mr. Summers to enter the cottage, “oh, where are my manners, it seems that the lack of visitors and age truly do make one a barbarian. Please come inside and have a drink and I will give you the last missing link of where you will find the specific item your looking for.”
Steps into the threshold and fallows the man into a wooden table where there are two chairs set and on the table are a box and a pouch.
“I’m just here for the information on the tome, a drink will not be necessary. And how is it that you know what I’m looking for?”
“Because it was written that you would. Well it was written that summer would fall into the green city, looking for the cold Grimoire, resting at the peak of where the sun and fighting summer will set to just turn around and rise again.” He sits down on a chair and motions for him to do likewise on the other. “It took years to decipher what my father meant when he wrote the instructions of what to have ready for your arrival and ‘when’ you would get here. Many have come before you but in the end always left in a hurry at the sight of my little guards. But not you, you walked further than many have. You actually made it into my home.”
“So I walked in here ‘and’ I’m looking for the Grimoire. You are correct on that…Yet you say that tome has been long gone from this region. The question is, are you going to tell me were it is?” Summers questioned the old man.
And looking at him, to Summers he resembled the headmaster from the books his youngest daughter had begged him to read every night about a young boy who lived. What he was missing were the robes and pointy wizard’s hat, or else he’d be the perfect spitting image.
Eyes twinkling he responded, “No I can’t. But I can give you this pouch and the box.” He pushed the box and pouch lying on the top of the box towards Mr. Summers.
Reaching for the pouch to open it the old man put a hand on his stopping him from opening it. “No, the pouch must not be opened on French ground. If you do, you won’t find the tome and it will be lost until another tries again. And knowing of your bosses they will not be pleased at having to wait another millennia to acquire the book.”
Summers stopped cold and when the man removed his hand, he put the pouch in the inside pocket of his dark trench coat. And then reached for the box to open it; inside he found six green bottles.
“Keep those with you and when you get to where ever it is the note in the pouch sends you to, take a bottle of this to an apothecary and have him make you more batches, because in the very ‘near’ future you will need the ‘Green Elixir’ in the bottle to help you get what you want.”
Giving the old man an odd look, he looked down to the bottles and decided to take the old man’s ramblings seriously. Closing the lid he looked up at the old man, “Is this all there is? Or is there more?”
“Yes this is all; my father only left the cryptic message and instructions.” Standing up, with Summers following suit, he added. “Well only that and take care of yourself. Don’t leave what little good is left in your broken heart up in the air with your soul or else it might wither into darkness. Well the last part is just the advice of an old man, who doesn’t want any blood shed.”
With that little cryptic message Summers walked to the door and looked at the old man’s sincere eyes. He didn’t know what to make of what the old man just told him. Every word seemed to have an ominous feeling behind them. Bidding the Sorcier a farewell he walked out and followed the path retracing his steps all the while feeling the eyes of the hunched gnomes following him and the trees closing behind him until he reached the guide still waiting, if a bit impatiently, on top of the horse. Handing Mr. Summers the reign of the horse, he mounted it and the guide turned around and started the journey back into the French Village. Mr. Summers followed him to the village where he could get his balloon and go back to Spain and tell his bosses that the book might not even be in this dimension or reality. News he knew would not sit well with them.
And that’s where it all went wrong, when he got on the balloon and lifted off the ground of France. At that point he remembered what the wizened man had told him about not opening the pouch till he was off French soil. Getting off his knee he turned around and in the corner of his eye he saw something glisten, something gold and green and red. To his right under the red cloth was the pouch he was given and in it, when he opened it in the air he had found gold pieces and tiny emeralds and rubies, as well as the note. Pulling the red cloth of the pouch and putting the few pieces of valuables back into the small bag; under the bag he found the note, the note that contained only one sentence, one phrase: You’ll find it over the Rainbow.
When he read it in the air balloon a small cyclone seemed to appear and lightning seemed to hit around him; and one bolt struck the balloon which knocked him out cold. And he ended up here reminiscing the last day; it seems by the shining, newly risen sun. Looking at his wristwatch he saw that it had either broken or the non to soft landing had loosened the battery. Tired, bruised, sore and by what he could tell no broken bones; he looked back to the wreckage and found nothing else he could use on his trip to find shelter or in the days to come. Putting the note back into the pouch and then putting it safely into, his inside coat pocket of his duster; he picks the compass, he had set down next to where the fallen pouch had lain when he bent down to pick up the pouch, and looks at the wider path heading south he decides to follow it.
End Chapter 1