Red Ruby Slippers

The Wizard awoke, and I knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

The beeping continued, a dull mechanical tone, 60 beats per minute, steady as a heartbeat. The lights flickered, eyes blinking in blue and green, as it woke to rule our Emerald City.But this Wizard had no heart and was no man. Without even feet, what will I do?

In this new world, does a pair of shoes, even if they were ravishing in red rubies, have a place? I used to be important, the most powerful shoes in the whole land. Beautiful women fought over me, to control my magic. Once I carried hope, now just dust dulls my rubies. I’m forgotten, just another relic on this shelf.

The Emerald Server Farm breathed in through a mechanical ventilation system, cooling the endless racks of its black boxed beasts, cursed to follow its evil commands like the flying monkeys they once were.

Green strips of lights mapped the intricate labyrinth inside. At its center lived the WizardCore. He prophesied the great Mysteries and promised to deliver any wish any human could imagine, at any time.

Fear, like a wind driven demon fire erupted through the surrounding villages.

Farmers twisted their dirt caked hands, worried the Wizard would plow the fields straighter than they ever could.

Storytellers whispered that the Wizard would spin stories without knowing the suffering behind them.

Musicians cursed under their wine-flavored breath that the Wizard would make melodies without madness.

Painters cried rainbow tears, lawyers bled black ink, and bankers locked themselves in their own vaults, all in fear of the power of the Wizard.

A small boy held his purple crayon, his hand stuck above the empty paper in front of him. Why draw at all, when the Wizard can make it perfect? Only tears filled the blank page before he pushed it away.

“What will become of us!” They cried

Pooling their gold, the frightened villagers posted a plea, for Avengers to confront, and defeat the All-Powerful Wizard. But no hero arose to take their challenge. Maybe there were no heroes left?

Certainly, gold had no value. The Wizard had decreed only digital Coinbits could be spent in the market controlled through the bytes rippling through his wires and screens.

Until one day.

A traveling band of young boys lurched into town from far away, across the pond. They plucked strings, banged on drums and screeched into the wind. The notes that erupted around them in diminished fifths, and augmented fourths rang dissonant and harsh.

“What is that awful noise? And they smell!” The villagers closed their ears and pinched their noses.

“You say you want a revolution!” The boys laughed. “We’ll tell that Wizard What’s the What!” They screamed, reverberations echoing out of their blown amps. "We all want to change the world."

For fate, or luck, or just to get rid of me, I was added to their load. A pair of cast-off slippers.

Their wobbly wagon rollicked down the road, rumbling over the gold bricked road toward the Emerald Server Farm.

Soon enough they came across a man trapped in an Ivory tower. He screamed at the swarming black robbed crows, desperate to get inside. “ What about me?” He said. “I spent my life learning the histories, and the myths. But the Wizard can think faster than me. What use is my mind?”

“Come with Us Professor Scarecrow!” The boys cried.

Then they met a burly man wielding a hammer in a Mighty Forge. “I am the last craftsman to work true metal, creating beauty from my heart.” His voice was old and rusted. “But the Wizard can work without rest. What use is my labor?”

“Come with us Man of Tin!”

A flaxen haired warrior peeked from behind a tree, his golden armor gleaming in the sun. “My sacrifice was for the soul of my people, my scars for their future. What of me?” His voice squeaked in fear. “It can wage war without blood. What use is my courage?”

“O’ Lion-hearted! Join our campaign!” The scraggly-haired boys shouted.

Down they went on the long and winding road. Through fields and farmlands, they played their marching song, loud, and out of tune. Everyone tripped over the missed notes, broken chords and crackling amps. They marched and danced, drank and played on.

At the green glow of the Emerald Server Farm, they fell quiet, in awe.

The Man of Tin pulled back the curtain, but no one was there. Professor Scarecrow led them through the Labyrinth, marching on until they found the WizardCore.

It blinked at them in blue green lights. It beeped at 60 beats per minute, it breathed cold mechanical breath.

But it did not live.

A cursor flashed on an empty screen, waiting for a prompt.

The Wizard’s voice echoed from hidden speakers.

“Prompt me and you will be like gods on earth! I can imitate your sound. I can recite all the histories. I can re-create the most beautiful art in the world! I can fight your enemies without losing a drop of your blood. I can do anything you can imagine, perfectly, without error , without flaw!”

The young boys just stared. One of them, named John, slipped me on his feet. My rubies sparkled against the green glow.

“You fools!” The Wizard roared!“ You are no more than bugs before me! You are, dung beetles, rolling up shit into balls!” The Wizards' voice thundered around them.

We all knew it was true. Compared to the great and all-powerful Wizard, these boys were almost nothing. John’s head fell to stare at me.

“Help me if you can, I'm feeling down.” He asked. “Help me get my feet back on the ground.”

“Play,” I whispered. “You've always had the power, my dear. You've had it all along!”

These boys, these Beatles, stepped forward and played. The music erupted, glistening notes of their humanity resonated in chords of anger, hope, loss, and defiance.

The Wizard didn’t know the pain of rejection, the hurt of failure, or the hunger of not being good enough. The Wizard had never tasted a perfect poem, the smell of a perfect brush stroke, or the feel of a chocolate mousse.

Professor Scarecrow stood taller. His collected learning gave him the wisdom to see what was real, the power and pride in each of us. "It's our flaws that make us unique!"

The Tin Man felt his heart beating deep within him and knew that his hands crafted imperfect beauty, not manufactured mimicry.

The Lion-Hearted man stepped out and drew his sword. “Battles without risk have no meaning!” His voice rang clear as a bell. “Prompt this!"

His sword crashed through the monitor, into the heart of the Wizard.

Electric sparks exploded , the blue-green lights flickered red. Iridescent green coolant leaked out of the machines and pooled across the floor.

I leapt up in ruby colored joy. The Wizard could replicate, imitate and amplify to infinity.

It could not inspire.

However a few boys and some collected rejects cannot change the world, even with magical slippers. The WizardCore was rebuilt, the Emerald Server Farm burned bright again. It tuned the instruments, lit the stage, and blasted the music farther than ever before.

But the Villagers knew the truth.

The Wizard could make things faster.

The Wizard could make things bigger.

When it mattered though, as the lights went down and the crowd roared:

The Beatles made them feel !