The Yellow Brick Road was scheduled for cleaning in the morning. Every route of the road was cleaned every other day, working from the furthest reaches of Oz back to the Emerald City. In the wisdom of Department of Travel they thought it best to not clean from Emerald City outward lest they dirty the roads again on their way back. The road needed to be perfect after the job. This was Oz. Perfection was the way of life.

But in the middle of the night, mere hours before scheduled cleaning, the pristine bricks of the Yellow Brick Road in Quadling Country were covered in leaves. They drifted across the walkway in the breeze, silhouetting against the gentle green haze of the not-too-distant Emerald City to the North. But as the leaves finally settled on the bricks to enjoy a few hours rest before they’d be swept away…

Footsteps. Racing up the Yellow Brick Road, dashing fast as could be.

“Oh boy…” the Scarecrow muttered between heaved breaths. His arms reached ahead of him, his legs pumping in an awkward bow-legged manner. Hard to be much of an athlete when you have no bones. But he ran, desperately, his eyes zeroing in on the Emerald City.

He allowed a smirk. Not far. I can make it, he thought.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

Scarecrow’s smirk dropped. Still sprinting , he dared a glance behind at the sound. A figure in the darkness, getting closer. Just as the Scarecrow squinted to attempt a more focused look at the thing, his hat flew off.

“No!” he yelped as his arms scrambled for it. But no time to go back for it. It was gone. Had to keep running. Up the back of his burlap head was a part in his hair. A curved line of stitches from a long-ago surgery when he received his brain from the Wizard.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

Louder this time. Closer. He knew he had to adjust strategy. He banked to the right, running right into the immense Forest of the Fighting Trees, where the trees swayed in deep slumber.

The Fighting Trees were a grumpy bunch, and terribly old. Even while sleeping their scowls were carved into the bark. Unpleasant to even look at. Leaving them alone was wise for they had no qualms about swinging their gnarled and unpredictable branches at you. Scarecrow’s last visit was many years ago and it didn’t go well. Nowadays no one was stupid enough to disturb them.

Or smart enough.

Scarecrow dashed through the forest, hopping over the roots, slapping at the low branches. Perhaps whatever was chasing him would be unprepared for such an unpleasant welcome from the trees. The Scarecrow set about causing a ruckus as he ran. The angrier these trees would be tonight, the better.

“Wake up! C’mon, everybody! Early morning, now!” he yelled as he yanked and plucked at one branch after another. They started to awaken with creaking groans and shivering branches.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

Scarecrow was almost through the forest as they started to swing for him. His face stretched in alarm, teeth grit, arms reaching forward. A leafy branch swiped at him with sharp intent, snagging his left arm. A bit of his shirt caught on the fingers of the tree’s claw. Bits of straw burst out of the wound and Scarecrow grabbed his arm at the gash.

“Oh, boy. Time to go,” he wisely concluded.

He emerged from the tree line, pausing to look back. Exhausted, out of breath, holding his limp left arm. The Fighting Trees were gnashing away at whatever had disturbed them. Scarecrow smirked again. Some good ruckus he caused.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

The figure. Again. Scarecrow could see it evading every swipe from the branches, nimble, seemingly shapeless. Uncatchable. Unstoppable.

“Uh oh.”

He turned and looked for a new plan. A cornfield, close by. In the shadow of the Emerald City. Perfect hiding spot.

He resumed his desperate run. He ducked into the wall of the expansive cornfield, holding his right hand in front of him to prevent the loose husks and leaves from slapping at his face. His left arm was useless at this point and flapped beside him as he ran. The stalks were several feet taller than him, blocking out most light, save for the slivers of green glow from the Emerald City. But he kept running. Running, turning, running some more. Deliberately getting lost in the corn. Then, finally, he was spent. No more energy. He couldn’t run any longer.

He stood there, listening. There was a rustle nearby. The figure. Had to be. Scarecrow took a gulp, tried to slow his breath. He looked around, slowly, studying the swaying leaves of the corn. His thoughts raced. Fear overcame him. Fear that he was in a dead end and would have to depend on dumb luck. Fear that he wouldn’t see his friends again.

No. None of that. You got yourself a brain, dummy, now use it!

“Say! I know you’re close. Know you’re after me.” Scarecrow announced. Even the best brain in Oz didn’t suppress his folksy drawl.

He took a few slow steps backward, holding his arm and setting his soft feet onto the ground as gently as could be.

He was so close to the Emerald City walls. But running wasn’t an option anymore…

“You know, I think we should talk! Avoid a whole lotta trouble. Been told I’m a pretty smart guy, I think we could work something out.”

TICK TOCK

A snap from behind Scarecrow. His eyes shot wide. He tried to turn to look behind him—

A flaming fist burst from his chest, dark claws extending wide. Scarecrow winced as he looked down in horror, a whimper escaping his mouth. He clutched at the fist with his good hand, as if trying to remove a dagger from his heart. But his hand lit on fire.

He began to scream.

He felt the heat of the fire spread through his chest and up to his neck. His scream became a hoarse crackle, then he lost the ability to even breathe. His legs went limp and he collapsed to the ground. He saw the embers of his own burning body drift up through the stalks and swim in the green haze of the nearby Emerald City.

The last thought in Scarecrow’s brain was of Dot. He used to call her Dorothy.

She’ll figure it out.