Dorothy Tricked

“Are you on your way to Oz, by chance?” I ask him. “It’s on the way to where I’m going,” he mutters. “You’ll give us a ride there?” Scarecrow asks. But the way he says it makes it sound more like an order than a request. I don’t want to get into his car. But my legs seem to move without permission. I make really questionable choices whenever I really, really want something. My body somehow takes over my decision-making.