Smell

“Sprite,” said Reala, “how’d you feel about a party celebrating Spectres life on Saturday.”

“Can it be a theme party?” asked Sprite.

“Anything you fancy mate,” replied Reala.

“Deodorant,” said Sprite. “One of our last laughs together was about deodorant.”

“Then that’s the theme,” said Reala. “Roll on the weekend.”

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Plans

“Hey folks,” said Reala, “what are you all doing at the weekend?”

“Well, I’ll be buying new glasses,” replied Yuffie.

“Then what?” asked Reala.

“Then,” pondered Yuffie, “I’ll see.”

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Croc

“Do you remember the suit Spectre had,” remarked Lucy, “that made him look like a crocodile.”

“Yeah,” laughed Sprite. “You know, he once told he’d seen crocs growing up to fifteen feet.”

“Incredible,” said Fuen. “I’ve only ever seen them with four.”

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Cat-Ci

“I’m afraid so,” said Yuffie.

“He clutched his chest and fell over,” chimed in Reala. “Right after buying a suit made of cactus needles.”

“Damn,” said Lucy. “I bet he looked sharp in it.”

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Gav

“I want him back,” sighed Sprite.

“We all want friends back,” sighed Yuffie. “Lucy’s mate Gav died of heartburn last week.”

“Hold up,” said Lucy. “Gaviscon?”

Is that one a bit too British? Do you get Gaviscon outside of the UK?

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Speech

“I mean, you have to look at the good in life you two brought each,” said Reala.

“Yeah,” pipped in Yuffie. “You two were always sharing a laugh. You’d finish each other’s punchlines so well.”

“You always had each other to talk too,” said Lucy. “Unlike my wife, who’s still not talking to me.”

“To be fair,” remarked Reala, “you did mix up her lip balm with superglue.”

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Books

“So how come there are so many Sprites?” asked Sprite. “So many copies of me, and yet there was only one Spectre?”

“You’re a character in a children’s book,” replied Yuffie. “Read by millions of parents to their young ones. Your original author’s passed away. Many will remember you. Many will tell their children stories of you. You’ll be remembered for generations. A little piece of your creator will live on, in the millions of Sprites that you’ve met.”

“The book Spectre was in,” sighed Lucy, “never got published.”

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Reala

“Before Reala arrived, there was another Reala” replied Lucy. “She led a dark carnival of vicious clowns, killer fire jugglers and a voodoo priestess. I liked her. Her creator died, walked up the road to the afterlife, she followed and later on, this one appeared.”

“So, I’m not even an original creation? I’m an alternative memory of someone’s creation?” asked Reala. “Is there anything original about me?”

“A few things,” said Yuffie. “Like, you know how to play Dancing Queen on a digeridoo.”

“Well,” chimed in Lucy. “That’s Abba-riginal.”

As someone who’s lived a life, perpetually misunderstood, I do wonder what’ll happen to peoples memories of my ideas when I’m no longer in their lives. Even when you write stuff down and show it to the world, everyone interprets your chicken scratches differently.

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Returns

“Could you bring him back?” asked Sprite. “Like Copper and Hydra?”

“I can bring back memories of the dead,” replied Yuffie. “But they rely on the imagination of living humans to remember them. To say ‘results may vary’ is the understatement of the century.”

“Show two humans a politicians speech,” said Lucy, “and they’ll always remember it differently.”

“And one will always believe it,” sighed Yuffie.

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Arrival

“Sprite,” said Yuffie as Sprite and Lucy arrived at the Grey Moon pub. “Reala saw Spectre walking up the road to the afterlife last night. By the time she got outside, he’d disappeared into the mists.”

Sprite deflated. “I didn’t think he’d…”

“Let’s go inside,” said Lucy, “I’ll get you a drink.”

Just then, the door burst open and Reala threw out a lion, a witch and a wardrobe. “I ain’t serving Narnia!” she cried.

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