Old Friends

   Note from Owen Tucker:
   Protocol 2: Do not listen to Michael. 
   Protocol 3: Do not listen to John Smith.
   Protocol 4: Do not listen to Zachary Langferd.
   Protocol 5: Do not listen to Tanner Erring.
   There.  Those about cover everything I have to say about that.  Now to my story, which I assure you is completely true to life and not fictional in any way.  Humph.  Calls himself “John Smith” and thinks he can talk about fictionality in my posts.  Bounder.
   Oh, and don’t forget Protocol 1.

   I looked at the strange weapon skeptically. “Oh really?  What’s that supposed to be, anyway?”
   Bob flourished the gun with pride. “It anti-magic weapon!  Drains both magic and life at once!”
   I laughed, which kind of hurt him emotionally, I think, because he got a real mad look on his face and leveled the gun at my chest.
   “Why you laugh?” he asked. “Death no funny!”
   I chuckled. “Yeah, but why drain the life and magic?  I mean, if you’re draining life, obviously the magic goes with it.”
   He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.  More satisfaction this way.”
   “Oh.  I didn’t think you were the sadistic type, Bob.”
   He grinned and shrugged. “You ready to die?”
   I returned the shrug. “No, not really.  Because, you see, I could always have Dave just crush the gun before you even pull the trigger.”
   “Not if I pull right away!”
   And he pulled the trigger. A beam shot out of the muzzle and illuminated my chest with golden light.  But I didn’t feel anything.  Most definitely nothing like death.  Actually, I was feeling kind of toasty.  I couldn’t understand what had happened at first, but then it dawned on me and I started laughing.  Bob was looking at the gun, then the beam, then me with a very confused expression.
   “Bob,” I managed to say after gasping for a bit. “You didn’t create a deadly weapon.  You created a weaponized,” I snorted. “Flashlight.”
   Bob looked down at his weapon and a tear began to well up in one eye.  I busted up laughing again.  I couldn’t help it.  The guy looked so pitifully hilarious.  I patted him on the back and led him to the door.
   “It’s okay, Bob, it’s okay.  I’m sure you’ll get it to work next time.”
   He gave a sad little nod and plodded away.  I shut the door and, after another fit of laughter, went back to the others.
   “Wha was tha all aboot?” Wilfred asked.
   Just thinking about it made me laugh again, so I shook my head. “Ah man.  Naw, it was nothing.  Come on.  There’s a door down the hall.  Let’s see where it takes us.”
   “Are we going on an adventure?” Fredrick asked.
   “Course we are,” I replied as I walked down the hall. “So get on over here if you don’t want to be left behind.”
   He and Elizabeth ran to catch up to me.  I stopped in front of the door and, without further ado, opened it.  Through the doorway was a great, open, grassy plain as far as the eye could see.  I stepped through the door and a brisk wind tousled my hair.  The kids, Ben, and Wilfred came through after me and stood on either side. 
   “Pretty awesome, ain’t it?” I said.
   “It is indeed,” Ben replied.
   “Most wondrous indeed,” a completely unknown voice agreed.
   I spun around and there, standing next to the doorway, was some dude dressed up in armor with a sword on his belt and a smile on his face.
   “Who the heck are you?”
   The guy struck a noble pose. “I, good sir, am the famed Dan Coyote!”
   “Dan Coyote,” I mumbled the name, mulling over it. “Dan Coyote.  Oh!  You mean Don Quixote, right?”
   “No,” he said. “I mean Dan Coyote.  And I bear with me my steadfast companion, Poncho!”
   He held up a hand, upon which was a golden ring.
   Oh not you.
   Yes me.  We meet again.

   To be continued…