A BP&G adventure - Pockets; Heretic

[joegoda]

It was dark and lonely, being the world. Oh, sure, there were moments of brightness when the world was just waking up and the air sang pure and the waters flowed just right. But all the same, being the world is a lonely thing.

The Pockets swirled about in his nothingness, not really thinking, not really feeling the loneliness, but he was bored just the same. It was like there was something that was missing in all of this. Like a part of what could be wasn't, and might never be.

There came a word, which The Pockets recognized as a word, but didn't really know anything about it. Then there was another word, and then another. After a while, the words started to form an idea, and even though The Pockets didn't really have ideas any more, the idea was something that The Pockets thought without thinking might just be a fun thing to do.

And so it was done.

-*-

The arrow, deflected by a bit of spritely magic, flew high into the air. When it reached a thousand feet up, it caught a swift moving river of air that pushed it far from the battle scene below, defeating the gravity that was trying to pull the arrow downward.

When the arrow had reached half a mile away from its intended, original destination, the river of air had faded to a trickling stream and gravity won the fight. The arrow dipped, the sharply honed tip pointing more down than ahead, and it fell.

The arrow, had it feelings, would have rejoiced in the ride down. It gained speed and it would have yelped for joy from the simple exhilaration of the excitement of the drop. Of course, it could also be said that the arrow might have been screaming from sheer terror, as well. Perhaps it was a good thing that the arrow had neither feelings nor a mouth.

From that thousand feet the arrow fell, moving towards a target far, far below. The target, if the arrow had had eyes to see, was a large human, dressed in a royal green gown, and chatting with another human. The one in the gown resolved into the figure of a woman, while the other was a man. Either would have made a fine target, the arrow would have thought, if the arrow could have indeed thought. Which it couldn't, or so it is believed.

At twenty feet up, the arrow might have believed that it was about to reach the end of its incredible journey. It might have contemplated writing to its tiny toothpick children and its wife, the spoon, about being carried far aloft and drifting among the clouds.

At ten feet from the target, a scream, pitched high and piercing, came from somewhere to the right. The target, the woman in the green gown, turned abruptly. The arrow missed bone and flesh, missed lung and heart, and instead found wood and tea, burying itself instead into and through the mug that the target was holding. An unceremonious end indeed for such a journey. Had the arrow lungs, then it might have been possible to hear it sigh in disappointment from where it was buried in the ground at Grizelda's feet.

-*-

The door to Swinehart's opened and slammed against the wall, knocking a cloud of dust from the rafters and leaving a dent in the wall. "Bags!" Grizelda cried out as she flew into the pub, pushing the few people that didn't get out of her stampede gently to one side, apologizing as she went. Her green gown had a flowing tea stain on one side and she clutched a damaged wooden mug in her right hand.

She found Bags, or rather, it would be more true to say that since she knew exactly where he was sitting, she didn't exactly find him as much as she targeted him at the round table he always sat at when he was holding court.

Bags stood when he saw Grizelda coming toward him. The other men stood as Grizelda approached, wondering if they, too, should dive for cover in light of her charge. "Griz! Are you all right? You didn't get hurt did you? Is Esme all right?"

Grizelda launched herself at Bags and wrapped herself as tightly as she could about him and cried for a full minute before she could pull in enough breath to say anything.

"Yes, we're all right," she said, laughing and crying at the same time. "And you're alive! I was so worried, Bags. What if you had been killed? That would have been the end of me!" She buried her face in his shoulder, laughing until the laughter fell into sobs. "I was so worried," she whispered into his shirt.

Grizelda pulled herself away from Bags, frowned up at him through her tears and punched him on the shoulder, as hard as she could.

"Ow!" he cried, rubbing the offended spot. "What was that for?"

"Don't you ever do something that crazy again, Timothy Bags!" Grizelda said, suddenly angry. "Do you understand? Never, ever again!" Then she grabbed him again and started sobbing. "I was so worried."

Bags gently stroked her hair and nodded. "I promise, Griz. I think I'm done with doing crazy stuff. I'm getting too old for this stuff." He pushed her gently away and kissed her soundly. "Besides, I'm never gonna leave you, old girl. Not even death could pull me away. You should know that by now."

Grizelda searched Bags face, her eyes roaming from the look in her eyes to the curls in his graying hair to the twisted smile of his mouth and then back to his shining eyes again. She nodded once and smiled back. "You promised." She smiled larger.

Suddenly she became aware of where she was. She looked around at all the faces in Swinehart's looking at the entwined lovers. They were smiling broadly, evidently approving of what they were seeing. She cleared her throat and pulled a bit away, but not too far.

"So," she asked the crowd around them, "I assume we're welcome back?"

A cheer went up in the bar for the two. "Long live King Bags and Queen Grizelda!" some one said. A toast went round the bar to the royal pair.

Bags yelled something into Grizelda's ear.

"What?" she yelled back.

The noise died down a bit and Bags repeated his question. "Did you find Pockets?"

Grizelda lost her smile, her eyes lost a bit of their shine and she frowned. "No," she said. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Bags frowned and his brows furrowed. "What does that mean? Not exactly."

"Well, first there was Esmeralda's scream," Grizelda began.

"You said she was all right!" Bags said. "Where is she?" He started to head towards the door of the pub.

Grizelda grabbed his arm to stop him. "She's fine, Bags, really." Then she shook her head and said, "I better show you. That'll help."

Towing Bags by the arm she held, she led him out the door. A crowd of people followed them and jammed into the doorway behind them.

Esmeralda stood out in the street, wearing a quiet pink dress with a white bow on the collar. When she say her father, she smiled sweetly and waved. "Hi daddy! It's good to see you didn't die!"

Bags picked her up and hugged his daughter tightly, his eyes closed and a quiet serious smile on his face. "Oh, sweetheart, it's good to not be dead. I'm glad to see you're all right too." He laughed as he held her out at arms length. "I'm glad to see we're all all right." He hugged her again.

"Um," Esmeralda muffled, her face buried in Bags shirt. "Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Bags said.

"Could you not smother me in front of everyone?"

Bags laughed and put his daughter on the ground. "Sure, honey." His smile was breaking his face in half. Grizelda came up and wrapped her arm in his.

"See? I told you she was all right, Bags," Grizelda said. "I think she came out better than anyone." Grizelda nodded at her and said, "Look closer at your daughter, Bags."

Bags nodded and peered at Esmeralda, noting that she did indeed look... radiant. She stood on the ground before him and actually seemed to have a glow that came from the inside of her and shone out. The glow gave her a golden shine to her skin, something that Bags hadn't noticed before. "Maybe she's just happy that none of us are dead?"

"It's more than that," Grizelda said. "Ask her about Pockets."

Bags looked curiously at Grizelda. "All right." He turned his attention back to Esmeralda, bending at the knees until his eyes were on the same level as hers. "What about Pockets, sweetheart?"

Esmeralda smile brightly and said, "Pockets is all right, daddy." She looked over at a young boy about three or four years old, standing naked in the street. "He's kind of shy, and he doesn't say much." She looked back at Bags, and whispered, "Try not to scare him, all right?"

Bags straightened and looked at the little boy. He raised an eyebrow, the dropped it. He squinted his eyes and looked harder. Then he turned to Grizelda. "Are you trying to tell me...?" He left the rest of the question unasked.

Grizelda shrugged. "Ask Esme." "She's the one that knows more than me."

Bags looked at his daughter. "Tell me the story, Esme."

Esme kicked a rock on the ground and looked up at her father from under big fluffy lashes. "There's not much to tell you, daddy," she said. "I was sleeping in Unk's tent, when all of a sudden this little boy fell on top of me. That's when I screamed and scared mom."

Bags frowned. "Aaaand this has what to do with Pockets?"

Esme smiled again. "Oh daddy!" She wave at the little boy, calling him over. "You're so silly." She reached down and took the little boy's hand. "This IS Pockets!"

"Esme," Bags began. "This is a little boy, sweetheart. Pockets is a whole lot older." He looked over at Grizelda, who just shrugged, so he turned back to Esmeralda. "I mean, Pockets has done some pretty odd things, I know. But Esme... this is a little boy!"

"I know, daddy!" Esme smile, already stretched from ear to ear, grew broader and met itself behind her head. "Isn't it wonderful?" She looked lovingly down at the little boy. "He's now just the right age!"

"Right age?" Bags scratched his head, confused. "Right age for what, sweetheart?"

"Why, daddy," Esmeralda said, with all the sureness her seven years gave her, "He's just the right age so that we can grow up together. And when we're big enough, we'll get married."

"Married." Bags rolled the word around as if it tasted strange and puzzling. "I think this has been a very long day. I think everyone has gone just nuts." He turned to Grizelda, his voice growing louder as he spoke, "Who the seven hells is this kid, Griz? What is Esme babbling about? Getting married. And this can't be Pockets!" He looked up at the sky and ran his hand slowly down the front of his face. "I wish this kid was Pockets, and then maybe someone would make some sense here!"

"Okay, look." The three year old spoke up in a voice that was much, much older than he was. "I'm losing a lot of stuff here, Bags and so I don't have a lot of time. As usual, the Universe decided to play a joke on me, and here I am."

Bags started, surprised and amazed. It was indeed Pockets' voice coming from a little boy. "What the hell?" Bags dropped to the ground and sat staring at the boy. "You... you're really Pockets?"

Giving a totally adult shrug, the boy sat in front of Bags and looked up at him with baby blue eyes. "Not for much longer, I'm afraid. Apparently, this new body just can't hold onto my old consciousness. But yeah, for a little bit, I'm still Pockets, chum. I figure that I won't be by tomorrow, though."

Bags confusion rushed out in a roar. "What are you talking about? How can you be Pockets? How can you be talking with Pockets' voice? Who are you?"

The boy stood up, placed his hands on Bags shoulders and looked him directly and seriously in the eyes. "Bags! This is NOT the time to lose your mind! I'm Pockets!" The boy then pulled back with one of his hands and slapped Bags across the face. "Okay? You got that? I'm Pockets!"

Bags, shocked back to his senses by being slapped by a naked three year old, sat numb and dumb. "Okay," he said at last, nodding. "You're Pockets."

Nodding grimly, the boy who was Pockets continued. "At least for a little while." He sighed. "Listen. I had to die, Bags, to beat Pewitt. He was so powerful, Bags, there really wasn't any other way. I had to die and become the world."

Pockets shrugged with his arms, and let them fall to his sides. "While I was dead and out in the... um... other place, I heard a voice talking to me. It told me that I wasn't done. It told me that I was gonna get another chance." A shy smile. "A chance to be normal, Bags. Just like everybody else. Not some super smart weirdo who played fifth wheel and watched everyone else get to be happy. Not some guy living in nowhere land while the heroes got the girl. Just an ordinary person. With an ordinary brain."

"But see...," he continued, "I had to start over. I couldn't have my old body back, because that old body was tied to my old life and besides, that body was scattered all over the place. So I got a new body, with a new brain, and it's just large enough to keep me here for just a little bit before what I was faded away and became what I am. The downside is that this body's brain is just small enough that what I was has to go away, because what I was couldn't fit into what I am." Pockets looked down at himself. "A little boy, chum. I'm just a little... naked... boy." He looked up at Bags and Grizelda. "Anyone got some clothes I could wear? Please?"

And that, my friends, is the end of the story. Well, not exactly the end, because even though the Pockets that was Pockets faded away and became an ordinary boy named Chet, that ordinary boy was only mostly ordinary. Every so often, something interesting and quite unique would happen to let Bags and Grizelda know that their old friend wasn't completely gone. Just changed.

Bags and Grizelda, Esmeralda and her new friend Chet, went on to have many adventures still. Ordinary adventures, that didn't involve anyone dying or having to be turned into cosmic consciousness.

And true to her word, Esmeralda and Chet did grow up to marry, and their love was the story of fairy tales. When Bags and Grizelda were old enough, they traveled happily to the Gray as all very old adventurers do. Esmeralda and Chet became Queen and Kings of Tears and lived happily every after.

The end.