An erotic and violent version of the Wizard of Oz in the streets of Rio de Janeiro. Gale, after being taken over by an alcoholic typhoon, and fighting some street muggers in Lapa, is sent by the Big Blue Fairy of Ceará, through the golden piss road, to the shantytown of Oz, to meet the great drug dealer of Oz. Joining him on the way are Mary of the Straws, Automatic Roberta and Cowardly Leona.Chapter 1. Wicked Witch of the East
In a street corner bar in Rio de Janeiro’s bohemian neighborhood of Lapa, shadowed by its famous aqueduct arches, Gale drank his eighth cup. It was only beer, he wanted to get drunk, but didn’t want to ruin his sexual performance at the end of the night. He didn’t want to be there, it wasn’t his idea, it was hers. If it was for him, he would already be in bed right now fucking her. But no, she wanted to pretend that they really had a relationship, she wanted to go out and drink with their friends, to talk, talk and talk. He couldn’t stand her, couldn’t stand her voice, her perfume, or anything that came out of her mouth. Her mouth it was only good for one thing, sucking his dick and nothing more. Gale lived in an inner struggle, on one hand, he wanted to ignore her, stop answering her calls, stop scheduling dates, on the other hand, he loved her body, he needed to devour it, taste it, digest it. The Wicked Witch of the East, as he called her in secret, was an accident of nature, she was boring, terribly boring, but beautiful, unbearably beautiful. Beautiful mouth, beautiful cleavage. Yes, he could easily find another one to fuck with some frequency, but the same couldn’t be said about her breasts. How could he find as easily such huge breasts like that, white as snow, belonging to a body so thin and tide. Breasts like that were unique. What a horror that to taste them, he had to be with her. Endure all that nonsense coming out of her mouth, so he could suck them dry, so he could fuck hard that tide tasty body, so well endowed. Her ass, another delight, white, soft. At least when penetrating her, she only moaned, groaned and ceased to be that living annoyance. And there was also her hands, in fact, it might not even had been her breasts that astonished more him, but her hands. How someone like that could have hands so thin and delicate. It was a waste that she only served to be fucked and nothing more.
The more she talked, the more he drank. By the end of the night his mind was spinning like a typhoon, they said goodbye to their friends and left for the apartment. They could walk there, at least he thought so, she didn’t, but accepted anyway. They walked through the orange lit streets of Rio’s downtown, streets that became emptier the more they walked away from the bar’s neighborhood. Grabbing her by the waist, tired of walking, he clanged her against a wall, sinking his head between her soft breasts. He kissed them, licked them, was ready to start sucking them, but despite her moaning, she didn’t want to do it on the street, he had to wait to be in the apartment to suck them dry. She didn’t like where he lived, thought it was very poor and falling apart, but accepted because she liked to be fucked by him. They were still halfway to the apartment. It was the best he could find near the subway, at downtown’s outskirts, the rent was still low. Actually, it was quite perfect for him, cheap, and all his neighbors were old drunks that spend all day at the bar and were already dead when they got home, also his only window was facing an abandoned building rather than the street traffic. It’s what one could afford being an artist, trying to survive doing every imaginable feat, as a writer, as an actor, as a party promoter. She lived in Ipanema, the beachside rich neighborhood of Rio, but she didn’t like to take him there, too shy to let her roommate hear her moaning screams. She didn’t like where he lived, how he didn’t care about certain things, how he criticized her perfume and didn’t follow her in conversations about popular things, as he always turned the subject to what interested him, but she definitely liked how he fucked her. Again, he clang her against a wall, this time to bite her neck and squeeze her ass. She stopped him, there were people coming toward them.
Two weird looking guys, the kind that were obviously high on crack, came in their opposite direction, Gale didn’t care, he wasn’t the kind that people would want to go against so he thought, she was afraid, he assured her that there was no reason for that. However, they did go against them, one holding a small music box playing the worst king of sewer funk possible, the other wielding a gun pointed at them. Of all the nights he spent wandering around Rio, all the dark alleys he passed by, of all the stories of robberies he had heard, this was the first time someone pointed a gun at Gale. And he had no idea what to do, he got static. He felt like hitting them, but he knew he couldn’t, he was not fast enough. As one pointed the gun, the other came to get their money. They talked, they growled, in the midst of their sewer funk noise. They reminded him of his hatred against all those uneducated beasts that played that sewer funk all the time around him, all of them, playing that garbage at top volume, never giving a shit about anybody around them, everywhere, in the buses, in the trains, on the streets, in front of his old home. Their way of existing was to scream and make everybody hear their filth.
Gale head was spinning with that noise, half in the situation, half in the hours passed crushed in buses and overcrowded trains. And they took the Wicked Witch’s wallet, and took her purse, and her shopping bag, and called her a little bitch. The one with the music box put everything in a backpack, and opened her shopping bag to see what was in it. It was a sneaker, a vibrant pink sneaker. The one with the gun made fun of the other, said he should wear them, they were for him, he would get the other ones, and then pointing the gun to Gale’s forehead, ordered him to take off his sneakers. His eyes widening with arrogance, increased more and more the hatred and disgust nurtured by Gale. But the gun was on his face, nothing he could do. He took off his sneakers, and the other began to put them in his backpack. It was too full, he had to punch them in there. What made the one with the gun reprimand him, turning his attention away. Gales moved his face away from the gun, grabbed his arm and kicked him on the balls. The typhoon, the spinning, the hatred, the disgust, took control of Gail. The gun fell, they began to fight for it, exchanging punches, there was a shot, but he was not hit, finally Gail got on top of him and began to punch his face. His punches grew exponentially in strength, until his fist sank into the mugger’s skull. He stopped when there was no more sense in it, when the typhoon stopped spinning. Gale got up, released some more of his anger by kicking violently the body, and then looked around. The other one had fled, the Wicked Witch had fallen on the street, shoot.
A wound below her right breast, she was dying. He grabbed her in his arms, she cried, she didn’t want to die. He was in despair, didn’t know what to do. She died. There with her still warm body in his arms, Gale was taken by a huge remorse, felling guilty for what just happened. He dirtied her with the mugger’s blood from his hands, much more than the one coming from her bullet hole. He gave her one last kiss, holding her tight, then finding her breasts still warm and so close to his face, started sucking them. Sucked and sucked, for who knows how long, until a little sobriety came back to his head. When he finished, he saw himself between the body of his beautiful Wicked Witch and the disfigured body of the mugger. Gale’s filled with fear, uncertainty and paranoia. Yes, he had reacted in self-defense, but how could he explain the fury with which he had smashed that mugger’s head. And even worst, this was Brazil, and if the mugger was a minor, Gale could be hunted by his actions.
The police would probably like what he did, but how could he be sure that they wouldn’t want to exploit him in someway, get some extra money to get rid of the problem. Or maybe some social justice lawyer would use it to get some attention. Gale had no money, he would be an easy target. To be arrested would be like living forever in one of those crowded filth trains he hated so much. He wouldn’t last a week, surely dead starting a fight. He needed to flee, make up an excuse, do something not to be associated with the incident. Yes, he could tell that they quarreled, he and the Wicked Witch of the East, she went the other way. Yes, they quarreled, they separated, she was robbed and died. But what happened to the street mugger? Who knows, maybe someone from a rival gang was passing by at the time. Perhaps they disputed the possibility of raping her. That’s it, they fought and she was gone, that’s all he’d know.
Gale looked around, trying to decide what to do next, noted that he was barefoot. The other mugger had fled with his sneakers, only her shopping bag left on the floor. It hit him, the other mugger had it all: his wallet, his identity, his address. It was over, he was ruined, if the police didn’t get him, the other mugger would find him and finish him off with the help of his gang. Gale sat on the sidewalk, not knowing what to do, started getting in despair. Behind him he heard an odd manly voice:
– You don’t know the goodness you did, baby!
Gale turned scared, it was a gigantic transvestite: top, short skirt, high heels, all in blue, could only be a prostitute.
– That son of a bitch, that motherfucker, in which you did that beautiful art work, was hated by a lot of people! You don’t know the good you did!
– It doesn’t matter. The other one took my wallet, soon he’s going to get his buddies to finish me off. Damn, I just want to go home!
– Ah … don’t be like that, baby. Do you want a cigarette?
– No, I don’t smoke.
– You don’t have to worry. I saw everything, I saw how they attacked you, how they killed your girlfriend. You sucking her breasts while she died was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! I’ll help you!
– Are you going to help me explain everything to the police?
– Oh … baby, don’t talk such bullshit. Police are just there to ruin us all. I know who can help you, people who you can trust, that you can really count on!
– Who? I would do anything to stop this nightmare and go home safely.
– The only person I know who can stop all this in two second is the great Drug Dealer of Oz! I assure you, he’s good a person, and you’ve just killed a little son of a bitch mugger that he hates. I’m sure he can help you get your wallet back and erase all that has happened, so you can go home safely.
– Ok, where can I find him?
– You just need to follow the golden piss road to the great shantytown of Oz. Arriving there, it’s only a matter of saying that it was me, the Big Blue Fairy of Ceará, who sent you. He’ll welcome you with open arms, even more so after you tell who you killed: the Perverse Zeek!
Gale thought the story a little strange, but he didn’t have much other option, so he started his quest through the golden piss road in search of the great Drug Dealer of Oz.
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