There are times in life when events occur that changes one’s soul. A soul cannot be solidified, its essence flows like oil through an engine. If a soul ceases to change, then the claws of death have seized it. When Bona patiently waited for death by the claws of Warren, he felt as if his soul roamed through the sludge of life. The opportune moments presented to him wore him down, expecting him to except the poison that his heart spat out.

In his efforts to present realism to his daughter, was he presenting his nourished soul to the fangs of the past. Can his soul be torn from the past and mixed into his present?

Sitting in his office, Kokomo had clambered up onto his lap, his arms were moved circling her lower back. Kokomo’s light hair a mess from a night of tossing and turning. Unable to rest she sought her father, unfortunately, Bona sought to finish his memoir, a piece of reality in a world he still couldn’t believe existed.

Bona sat listening to the rhythm of her breathing, her arms hanging loosely to the sides, her cheek pressed firmly into his stomach. I wonder if this annoying brat is gonna end up hating me when she’s old enough to read these crappy words. Bona chuckled to himself.

Kokomo twitched. “Mmmm, papa?” She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes with her tiny hands. Squinting up at her father’s face, she pouted, blinking hard till Bona came into view, then she joyfully exclaimed. “Your alive!” Her small frame slammed into Bona squeezing his hips with her hands outstretched. “I was so, so scared. Papa, I’m so, so sorry!”

Bona began petting her head, “Hey, hey Little Goose, tell me what your sorry for.”

Kokomo’s sniffle moved her entire body. “I…, Papa, I had a scary dream. You-you were…, Papa, I turned you into a pickle. And we didn’t know how to turn you back into Papa so we, we left you on the tabletop. And, and I was so hungry I walked into kitchen and you were there. Sorry Papa, but-but you yelled so loud for me to stop. Papa, I’m so, so sorry. I ate you.” She mumbled into Bona’s stomach.

“My, umm, hey…” Bona had no idea how to respond. “Okay, so I’m right here now right. See, if I’m a pickle you’d be all wet and vinegary. Or…, hey Little Goose was I at least a good pickle?”

Kokomo nodded her head, rubbing her wet face against her non pickle Papa. “Papa…, You-you were the bestest pickle ever.”

“Then it was a good dream. See, if I knew how good I tasted, I would hate myself for trying to stop you from eating such a good pickle. Pickles are treasures of this kingdom, and if you were eating the bestest pickle ever, than Kokomo, I award you with an extra pickle for… how about for breakfast? What do you say, eater of the bestest pickle?” Bona gave a smile and rub on the back to the little girl on his lap.

Kokomo released her grip on Bona, keeping her head down she leaned back. “Mama says to not eat pickles so early. They give me bad breath for the whole day.”

“Hmm, I’m sorry Little Goose, then two pickles for dinner will have to do.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Really?” Her eyes shot straight up to Bona.

“Mmm hmm. Unless…, unless mama says no.” Bona gave a sentimental smile to the teary-eyed girl.

“Awww.”

“Hey, your mama spends a lot of time with you, taking you around to see everybody in town and what not. Don’t give our lovely mama trouble Kokomo.” Bona’s brow raised.

“I know Papa. She tells me you’re a big dummy when it comes to raising me.”

Bona laughed, hugged Kokomo and rested his head on top of Kokomo’s. “Oh, she did? I love your mama so much.”

“I love her too. Mmmm.” Kokomo was embraced by Bona who had been using a decent amount of mana. “You know Papa. I love sitting on your lap like this. When I do it’s like you get warmer and warmer, and sometimes your skin gets a little bit harder and bouncier, I love sleeping here. Can we just stay like this? Can we?” Bona relaxed his hold, lifting his head, Kokomo rested her cheek on him, hands by her head holding Bona.

“Hmm, no, I’m sorry girly, but if you stay for too long while I’m using mana, you’ll getting really, really hot. You know how you get tired when you use mana?”

“Mmmm.” Kokomo yawned, bringing a hand to cover her mouth like her father does when he yawns.

“Well, you’re really different from us, now, I need to get you to your room for some nappy nap time. I swear on my pickle grave that I shall get you there safely, Little Goose.”

Kokomo giggled, then she stopped and looked up at her Papa her lips drawn in tightly, the inner corners of eyebrows angled up. “Papa, that’s not funny. You would have a pickle grave because of me. I don’t care if you are the bestest pickle ever, I’d rather have you than a good pickle.” Kokomo’s jaw opened wide, eyes tightly shut as she let out another yawn, wiping at the tears that formed.

Bona stood up lifting Kokomo as she rested her heavy head on her Papa’s big shoulder. “I’ll tell you bedtime stories that you fall asleep, Okay?”

“Mmm.” Kokomo begins playing with Bona’s jaw, her tiny hands tracing its outline. “I wish my bed was big enough for both of us, so you could sleep with me Papa.”

“Is that so? If you want, we can build one together tomorrow.” Bona focused his eyes walking through the moonlit halls in the home he built with Iliana, Maggie, and some others.

“Mmm.” Kokomo’s hand left Bona’s chin as she covered her mouth and let out another tired yawn. “Nope. I lied; I like my bed.” She let out an exhausted giggle.

“Humph, okay Little Goose.”

“Hehehe. Quack.” She gently picked her head closer to Bona’s ear and let out a silent quack.

“Oh ho. Gooses don’t quack smarty pants.”

“Oh?” Kokomo’s yawn was growing more frequent as she lifted her head to look at her father’s face. “Whaaaaaaaat… mmm…. What do they say, Papa?”

“I…, actually don’t remember, maybe they squeak.”

“Hehehe. Squeak… Hmm, doesn’t sound right. Eh.” She rested her head back on Bona’s shoulder.

Bona let out a laugh through his nose. “It’s been a little bit since I made one for you, we’ll find out tomorrow, I don’t want to wake anyone up.” The town knew the feeling of when bona used the historian’s spell, but he feared using any thing else stronger than turning on the lights would send someone into alert.

“Maybe they do quack?”

“Hehehe.” This time she decided to rub her listless tears on to Bona’s shirt.

“Maybe I don’t have to tell you a bedtime story sleepy head.”

“Mmm…, no wait.” Her eyelids were heavy, struggling to speak as her words slurred. “Please do, I want to hear your voice. Then I know Papa Pickle is okay.”

“Got ya. Where going upstairs now okay? Your almost to your bed, so stay with me for a little while longer okay?” Bona adjusted Kokomo.

“Mmm,” Kokomo started singing to stay awake. “Papa is so strong, do dumm dee, Papa loves me, do dee dumm, Papa is a big dummy, dumm de do, Papa loves you. Hmm hm hmmmm, hm hmmmmm hm.” Kokomo let out another yawn, dampening Bona’s neck.

Bona laid the sleeping child in bed, tucked her in and wondered if he was really going back to his past or to someone else’s past.