Daily Writing Prompts discussion

Hey, lovies!!! How are you (Answer this question. I want to know.)?

Here is the prompt for today:
✨️🎀💚 - Make a story based on an aspect in Wicked, or The Wizard of Oz - 💚🎀✨️

Happy Wicked day!! Happy writing, have a great day, my loves. ❤️❤️

Tired.
Very, very tired.

🥱

How’re u?

Tired, very very tired. That's exactly how I feel. I've been doing a homework assignment all damn day.

OOOOHH

ILL HAVE TO DO THIS ONE LATER!!!!!



Feel better Amara 🫂

Thank youu❤️❤️

I AM OFFICIALLY GONE THIS EVENING BUT I COULDNT RESIST LOL

Told from the ruby slippers pov, the wizard of oz:



I was minding my own business—glittering glamorously on a pair of shriveled witch feet—when a house fell out of the sky and turned my boss into bargain-bin confetti.
Look, I’m not saying she was a delight to work for. She moisturized with spite and screamed at flying monkeys like they were dial-up internet. Still, getting flattened by real estate was a bit much.
Anyway, before I could even process my sudden unemployment, this wide-eyed girl in blue comes tiptoeing over, and poof—some sparkly lady just assigns me to her like I’m some kind of magical foster pet.
And then Dorothy sticks out her tiny Kansas toes and slips me on.
I swear to Oz, the girl had barely wiggled her pinkies before another witch screeches in like an angry, damp crow:
“THOSE ARE MINE!!”
Ma’am, your sister is a pancake. Let it go.
The whole journey afterward? Please. Chaos.
Every day was a new episode of “Why Are We Walking Toward Danger Again?” Lions having emotional breakdowns. Tin guys rusting if someone so much as cried nearby. Scarecrows catching fire like they were auditioning for a barbecue commercial. And Dorothy—sweet, polite, catastrophically curious Dorothy—insisting we follow a yellow road because a floating head said so.
Meanwhile, I’m the one doing the actual work.
Who do you think kept Dorothy from tripping over her own optimism every five minutes?
Who do you think ignited with magical fury whenever a certain green drama queen tried to snatch me like I was on clearance?
Me. The shoes. Hi.
And then, after battling poppy-induced narcolepsy, thwarting a witch with severe moisture sensitivity, and clicking my heels so hard I practically developed ruby shin splints, Dorothy finally gets home.
She gives me one last grateful squeeze—and leaves me behind.
Classic.
So here I sit, sparkling dramatically, waiting for my next assignment. Preferably someone quiet. Grounded. Emotionally stable.
… But knowing Oz, I’ll probably end up on the feet of a talking goat with political ambitions.