The day was filled with fatigue and shaking. She had not learned, had leaped backward through a silk-worm-hole of iodine and brisk. Three months, too long.
Fields covered in crimson hatched with bruises, make-shift marks of love she no longer has feelings for. Life cannot continue when emotions lay dormant.
Oz had been shaded; covered in cotton balls and honey bees. The lack of sunlight was taking its toll on this Dorothy.
As morning broke Dorothy felt something was off. In the night little men had come creeping into her bedroom out for blood, yet in for love. Upon the rise of day light’s life she knew, could not break free from waking night’s screams.