In which Hannah gets knocked out and taken to another world. 

Remember that story of the girl who lived on a farm in Kansas? With the dog, and the tornado taking her over the rainbow? And she got those famous silver slippers, (ruby) and met some short people and lions and melted the wicked witch just so she could go home? Well, this isn't that story. At least, not exactly. 

Once upon a time, but not that long ago, say around...last month? A young girl, or-young woman perhaps, was in her kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich. It, of course being the middle of winter, she dressed herself in a sweater and overcoat, a scarf around her neck and a hat on her head. Her name was Hannah, one of the many many Hannahs that inhabit this Earth. She carefully spread the peanut butter evenly across the bread and removed the crust. 

"Ya' know, I think the world grossly underestimates just how good a peanut butter sandwich is," she said placing the knife in the sink. Looking around, she noticed she was in her house alone. She looked to the ceiling, waving her hand. "Hey, narrator?"

Hmm?

"How come I don't have any friends here with me? Where's my family?"

Oh, they're not in this story. They're unnecessary characters who would simply drag the plot and we're on a time crunch here. You're all alone in this hobbit hole you call a house. 

"Then who am I going to talk to?"

Yourself of course. I mean, you do that anyway, don't you? 

The girl turned awfully red before picking up her sandwich from the counter. "Shut up, up there, will you?" She took a bite and grabbed a napkin.

Aren't you going to put any jelly on it?

"Are you nuts?" she asked. Taking her sandwich to the backyard, she walked across the broken, rotted, falling apart deck--don't look at me like that, you know it's true--and down the steps to the grass. For winter it was rather sunny out, which made the air even colder. She sat down next to a yard statue and wrapped an arm around it. 

This wasn't any yard statue though. Last spring, after almost fifteen years of love and happiness, this girl had to have her dog put down on a gruesome Saturday morning. In his memory, her absent family had a stone statue of a pug placed in the backyard next to a bush of yellow roses. Through rain and snow the statue had held up, giving the young woman some company. 

"It's nice out here, isn't it Pugsley?" she asked. "I'm sorry you don't get to stay indoors when the weather is bad, I know how you hated to get wet when you were alive. But at least you can go to the bathroom whenever you like now. Would you like some sandwich?" She offered her sandwich to him. "You loved peanut butter didn't you? I bet-wait a minute, this is ridiculous," she said standing up from her spot. "Am I really this lonely? Just because I look like Quasimodo doesn't mean I have to act like him."

Who's telling the story here?

"No one right now."

*sigh* What would you like to change?

"Can I have some friends please? A family? Someone alive to talk to?" She brushed some hair out of her face. "A better hair cut perhaps?"

You will in a minute, now if you keep interrupting the story and wasting time I'll cast someone else as Dorothy, understand? 

She sat back down, her mouth full of sandwich. 

Now this young woman was rather accident prone. Not clumsy by any means, just very unlucky. Anything that could possibly be picked up and thrown in the air, had a seventy percent chance of hitting her on the head. Frisbees, lollipops, thermoses, even Stewie Griffin plush toys. This particular time, ironically, it was a jar of peanut butter a neighbor had thrown over his fence. Or, maybe he tripped or something, I wasn't paying attention. Anyway, long story short, it hit Hannah on the head, knocking her out cold. 

Are you alright, Hannah?

"I'm fine, Salvador. But next time, either start lower on the bed, or remove the headboard."

...Now she's out cold.

Opening her eyes, she looked up to see a sky no different than the one at home. Assuming she was still next to her statue of her late dog, she sat up and took another bite of her sandwich, only to painfully realize her sandwich was gone. 

"Where did it go? Unless someone robbed me in my coma it couldn't have vanished...oh." Taking a glance at her surroundings, she saw her backyard was no more. Various waterfalls surrounded the little land, watering the lush gardens. The grass underneath her had turned into roads of red, grey, and yellow brick. A marble fountain stood beside her, a statue of a fish on top spouting water out of its mouth. The temperature was much warmer, putting her in some discomfort with her overcoat and scarf. She was too stubborn to take them off though. 

Finally standing up, she had a closer look around. The water, the flowers, they seemed so real. It had to be a dream. Of course. Once she touched the water, or picked one of the flowers, she would wake from her dream, and be right back where she started. Right in her backyard next to a jar of peanut butter and hopefully an apologetic neighbor. 

She reached her hand out to touch the biggest, reddest rose sticking out from the one of the gardens. It was perfectly in bloom, barely a thorn on its stem. There was no need. Nothing could harm this flower. Until Hannah reached out to touch it, the whole garden, the whole mountainside it was attached to, the whole waterfall toppled backwards, crashing into what looked like a studio behind it. A few people were there, backing out of the way of the falling scenery. 

Hannah then decided this must not be a dream. 

"Sorry about that!" she called. "I didn't know all this was...fake."

You never would have known if you hadn't knocked it down. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to touch things?

"I don't know, it appears I don't have one here." A few men grabbed the backdrop and stood it back up, fixing it to stand again. Water poured everywhere from the waterfall pipes. "It looks nice though."

You were out for so long we had time to put in a little extra. We didn't know you'd get so grabby.

"..."

Don't stick your tongue out at me. Here, look down at yourself. Notice anything different?

Hannah looked down at her attire. Her black combat boots had turned into a sharp red color, shining in the sun. "Hey, very nice. I wonder how I didn't notice that."

Yeah, I wonder. Now have another look around. But don't touch anything. See anything?

Keeping her hands to herself, Hannah walked around the bricked ground and inspected every corner. Apprehensive, as if she expected to see a pair of dead feet poking out from under a house, she instead saw a large brown lump, just lying there. It was furry, and it seemed to be sleeping. With quiet steps and an outstretched hand, she touched its back, knowing exactly who it was. 

"Pugsley? What are you doing here? You're dead!"

Pugsley didn't answer due to being asleep and a dog. 

"Man, you've gotta be a hundred years old by now. How'd you bring him to life?"

It's your dreamland, anything can happen here. Actually, most of the budget was spent on that. You wouldn't believe what we had to do to make that happen. 

"I don't need to know, this ain't a Stephen King novel." Hannah gave the sleeping a dog a slight rub on his side, the pug lifting his head out of his slumber with a snort and a sigh. He stretched his front paws out in front of him, lying there for a minute, tongue hanging out. Rolling onto his stomach, he sat up and began licking his hind leg. Hannah watched him in wonder. "It's uncanny, it's as if he's really alive! Every movement...just like him."

Are those a few tears I see?

Hannah wiped them away. "N-no."

Good, the set is wet enough from your deed. Now please, get your dog up and ready, we've got a story to perform. 

"Well hold on a minute, he just woke up. He needs time to prepare, ya' know." The dog tried standing up, immediately sitting back down to scratch himself. "He has a few itches to scratch first." 

*sigh* Alright, bring in the good witch.

"The what?" Hannah shielded her eyes from the bright white light, illuminating the set. It lowered onto the bricked ground, turning into a young woman with a dress of many colors. Reds and blues to greens and yellows, coating the gown in sparkling waves. Her tiara was purple, and over her gown was a pink fur coat. Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a thousand freckles starring her face. Hannah's eyes adjusted to the new image and she frowned slightly. "Greta...?"