Had We Just

Prologue Stories: Another Failed Potion, When Pigs Fly, The Peckuliars, Play Dead. Eye of Newt.

Twilight was always a spectacular time of day in the Knockwood Forest. The sun, just below the horizon, still working its magic with scattered rays on the soon-to-be evening sky. The moon had begun its slow ascent. Even the sounds of the day were changing guard. The crickets harmonized their evening chorus while the songbirds quieted their song. There was always a balance between night and day.

Jack

This was the time Jack would stop for the night and bed down. Tonight, he was bone tired. He wasn’t sure even a good night’s sleep would cure his exhaustion. You see, Jack has been on a mission to find true love, no simple task.

He laid down beside a pair of herons, propping his head up on the soft down of the mother bird. It was a perfect place to read. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a well-worn piece of paper — a letter he wrote a while ago. The kind of letter that would never be sent and one he couldn’t bring himself to destroy. Instead, he kept it close and read it every night.

With a final sigh, Jack closed his eyes. Darkness fell.

When Jack woke up, he was still in darkness. This was confusing because the moon was full. He reached out and touched a canvas material, quickly realizing that he was caught in something. Fumbling, he found his way out of the bag only to find himself in a large pen made of interwoven sticks tied tightly with jute. There was another bag. He opened it and peered inside.

“Newt!” he said with an intake of breath.

Newt laid still. Jack reached in and pulled out his limp body, cradling his head in his arms. Newt was breathing but had a nasty bruise on his left temple. The poor fellow had been knocked out.

“I gotcha buddy. You’ll be ok.”

Jack could hear voices on the other side of the pen. He turned his head to hear better.  

“There, Eye of Newt!” said the proud buzzard Rage, thumbing an indication toward the pen and scratching it off the list.

Ruin turned her gaze to another brother, Reck, “Lazy, where is the Owlet?” she demanded. Ruin called her brothers Crazy, Dazy and Lazy. She had little time for their ridiculousness.

Reck replied, “Still lookin’, sis. They don’t call it a scavenger hunt for nothing!” He was tired of his sister’s bossiness.

Then Rotten spoke up.

“Well, I got me the Toe of a Frog! And…something else.” With a sing-song voice, he waved a little piece of paper in the air and said, “A little love letter written by a guy named Jack.”

He noisily cleared his throat. He loved attention.

Dear…

“Get on with it,” interrupted Ruin.

Had we just…had we just been at the right time.

Jack‘s tears immediately welled in his eyes.

“No! Please don’t!” But no one heard Jack’s plea.

His sadness quickly morphed into fury. How was this happening? He had written the letter in the hope of trying to make sense of his negligence and loss of the one he loved. When a big love came along, he had not been ready, still blind from a past hurt. Only recently did he rediscover his emotions and ability to love. But by that time, he was too late.

I heard you met someone. Heard you were “over the moon”.

Jack just stopped. He was transported back to the time of his leaving. His heartache was crushing. His sadness enveloped him. Unable to forgive himself.

I was the one who needed to change, not you. Had I just…

“Oh, the poor bastard! That’s gotta hurt. It’s best if we kill him now,” said Rage.

The buzzards continued to read and mock Jack’s heartfelt words. It was unbearable torment. But it ignited a fire inside him! He dug his toes into the sand and started to dig. In no time, he dug a hole underneath and was outside the pen. Rushing back in, he gently pulled Newt by the shoulders through the hole and laid him upon a lily pad at the edge of the pond. Slipping quietly into the water, Jack steered the lily pad to a clear opening in the swamp. Swimming powerfully, he brought them both to safety on the other side. Once on land, Newt began to stir. Relief and conversation followed.

It would take a while before the buzzards realized the pen was empty. A daring escape had happened under their noses. Ruin was apoplectic, but Rotten didn’t care.  He simply said, “Hey, anyone got a stamp?”

Stay tuned for another exciting chapter of Another Failed Potion!