A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 33: Not a Bear

Darkness cascades upon the realm ceremoniously.

I can see ahead that the yellow brick road is going to pass through a dense forest. A thousand different animal noises ring in the air suddenly, as if noticing my unnatural presence. Panic slowly creeps up on me. Fight or Flight. What will my body do? I never quite know how I will cope with a threatening situation. My body decides when it happens, whatever happens.

I move thick branches out of my way and try not to fall over the odd tree stump or stone. Clay-like rabbits scuttle around trees, wrapping up their day and hurrying home to rest in their underground burrows. The thought warms me with imagined safety. I'm going to sleep for a week when I get back home. I miss Avian Oaks. Why am I doing all of this? I can go home, like right now.

But I'm so close. The path is so close to its end. I can see the yellow bricks halting over a hill, at the tip of a mansion. That has to be where the wizard lives. It's right there, I can see it through the trees. Bright lights line its entrance. Come nightfall, I should be there.

A little while later, my feet begin to entangle with stray twigs and tree roots. I hop-scotch over the mesh and trudge ahead. With so much else in the way, I almost lose track of the brick road.

Finally, a clearing opens up in front of me, the path going through its middle. Reflexively, I run through it because walking feels like a burden after escaping that roadblock of twigs and roots. I'm half-way into the clearing, when a humongous cage falls over me.

I'm trapped in the clearing. Good heavens Oz, I'm not a bear!

Who lays traps in the middle of the yellow brick road? Don't they know people walk along it to go see the Wizard? This hunter must've gotten it wrong. Were there any hunters in this land? It does seem like every creature in this place has gone bonkers. The Cowardly Lion, the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, they weren't being themselves. From what I can recall, their new gifts from the Wizard help them flourish. But something seems amiss.

The cage is tightly knit with hay-made ropes. I try to put my hand through a gap, but my index finger gets stuck. The ropes are so tightly strung together that my finger tips come out badly scratched. I rest on the ground for a moment. The soil is soft and muddy in this part of the forest; it's the complete opposite of how it was initially when I was plodding through it.

I'm utterly comfortable on the ground, but it's growing darker with every passing second. And the ground — it feels even softer now. I almost feel like I'm sinking. Like I'm inside a snake again. Like the ground is slowly...swallowing me whole.

I realize with a groan that the ground below me is made of quicksand. I'm going to die by suffocating inside a patch of sand.

I don't just panic this time, "Heeellppp!" I scream as loud as I can. All the owls and other nightly creatures instantly quieten.

"Help ME!" I scream again and my voice echoes in the silence of the forest.

Then, I hear shuffling, and branches being pushed aside. Thumping and scratching. I look down and realize I can't see my feet anymore. They are underground like my imagined safety. 'Be careful what you wish for,' my subconscience cruelly mocks me.

"Jemma?" I hear a voice. I squint at the darkness and my eyes adjust to the outline of a familiar creature before me. The Cowardly Lion! But oh, what could he possibly do to save me?

"Jemma?" Another voice. The Tin Woodman appears behind the Cowardly Lion.

"Little Girl? Aah, we've finally found her!" The Scarecrow appears beside his friends. What are these three doing here?

"We heard you! So, we followed your voice here. We'll save you." The Tin Woodman rejoices with manic glee.

With a loud roar, the Cowardly Lion tears a hole into the cage with his sharp claws. A hole big enough for me to climb through it. But, I'm stuck, the quicksand has swallowed me down to my knees. I can't seem to move an inch forward.

The Tin Woodman turns to the Scarecrow. He channels the feelings from his new heart into a persuasive speech, "Now, Scarecrow I know you don't like Jemma as much as Dorothy, but she's like Dorothy, isn't she? Dorothy helped us and in memory of our friend, we should help Jemma."

To the untrained ear, his speech isn't very persuasive, but it works. The Scarecrow stuffs his straw hands into his mouth and conjures up a piercing whistle.

A few moments later, a glorious brown eagle flies towards my cage from the dark sky above. We stare at its flight, mesmerized. Even though, the quicksand has half-eaten me, I've managed to keep my arms and hands out of the sand. The eagle grabs my hands with its surprisingly tender claws and pulls with the strength of ten bears. And before I know it, I'm out of the sand.

It drops me gently outside the clearing and my three new friends come rushing out to check on me.