OZ DRABBLES
A MIDSUMMER'S NIGHTMARE
The
Celtic druids celebrated Alban Heruin, or the longest day of the
year. It was the crowning glory of the seasons--an apex of
light--with more sun than any other day. In the summer ahead,
crops would be bountiful and people could frolic at will.
In
Oz we
don't celebrate the solstice. We sure don't frolic
free. We
want shorter days, not longer. We'll pass on the light;
there's
nothing here we care to see. And as for the crops we've
planted,
it would be just as well if they didn't flourish.
They've
only caused us grief so far.
DON'T FEAR THE
REAPER
"Burr,
no!" Augustus lunged. There was no pain;
his legs were young and alive!
Burr
reached for him like a terrified child. How odd that their
roles should be reversed.
There
are many ways to escape from Oz, Augustus once thought. In a
coffin, for one. He just couldn't work out the details.
Now
he can. He sees everything and is--for once--neither sad nor
afraid.
He
did
murder. He's made good. An eye for an eye, they
say.
The scales are even; he'll claim his reward. Don't fear the
reaper: why should he? Augustus Hill is finally free.