Chapter 3: Compassion in Fatigues

Nutty hadn't drawn a real weapon, though. He'd just engineered a toy gun that fired candy instead of bullets.

The squirrel took aim with his trademark giggle, firing several times. Four candy canes hurtled through the air, their ends refined into wickedly sharp points. Flippy flinched four times in a row as each struck their mark. He thought he saw the target beginning to ooze red syrup from where it had been pierced...

"Wanna play?" Lumpy asked obliviously.

Flippy didn't respond, standing slightly hunched with wide eyes. The moose waved a hand in front of his neighbor's face and got no reaction. Lumpy shrugged, then picked the bear up and carried him underarm.

The next thing Flippy knew, he was being shoved to the front of the line. By now the target was full of many different items: two screwdrivers, several candy canes, a pogo stick, Petunia's air freshener, and half a dozen carrots.

The bear glanced down and stopped breathing. He had one of those flamingo lawn decorations in his hands.

"Go on, try!" Toothy exclaimed. The rest of his friends were also encouraging him. Flippy just stood there trembling and staring off into space.

Thinking that the bear didn't know what to do, Lumpy ran behind the target. Flippy's brows twitched up.

"Right here!" Lumpy called. He pointed fingers towards the center of the bull's-eye, which also happened to cover his torso.

A black shroud was beginning to beat at the corners of Flippy's vision. His friends' voices faded to a senseless rush of noise and all he could see was Lumpy, waving and beckoning at him...

Flippy let go of the lawn stake. He fell to his knees, paralyzed.

Cuddles came up, concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked. The bear lowered his head to the ground and covered it with his arms.

Cuddles ran over, snatched one of the balloons from a table, and rushed back. He stretched and tied the balloon into the shape of his likeness and proudly held it out.

Flippy peered one bloodshot eye out, then immediately jammed his head back to the ground. He bared his teeth with a growl, feeling like the walls were closing in.

Then, to the shock of his friends, he bolted up and took off. Lumpy stepped out from behind the target, confused. "What's wr..."

Flippy barreled through him and knocked him off his feet. If it'd been a bad day for Lumpy, his jaw would've jutted right up into his skull from how hard he hit the ground. Luckily the moose was only a little disoriented. The other animals looked at each other, confused and concerned.

Flippy dashed for his home, breathless and light-headed. The front door was knocked off its hinges.

"What the—"

He swore fantastically. He had to barricade the doorframe with his TV, couch, and dining room table. The entire time he was in a hazy panic and only knew he could not be around others at the moment. Flippy wandered around his living room clutching his head, trying to calm his exploding hysteria.

He began hearing voices outside calling to him. He fled his living room and ran into the basement, slamming the door behind him. He was out of his mind and very lucky he didn't misstep as he clambered down the stairs in the dark.

He had finally shut all the noise out, but he was quaking. His hands shook the worst. He breathed in and out, in and out, over and over again. In the complete darkness he had little indication that he was drifting in and out of consciousness; the only way to tell was when he discovered himself in a different position than before.

It was happening again. Those brief periods of not knowing how his own body was moving or acting terrified him.

He eventually found himself on his front with his hands grasping at his face. He wouldn't move from that spot no matter how long it took. He didn't want to risk doing anything harmful to someone. He could make out knocking, a voice or two, and the occasional ring of his doorbell well into the further hours of the night, but there finally came a point where it all stopped.

He felt as though he could relax then. If he was left alone, he wouldn't have to feel more guilt than he already had.

Flippy put his head in his arms. He wept until his fatigues were soaked.

It was the next sunrise when Flippy roused out of his sleep, feeling absolutely terrible. His head was heavy, and he was still exhausted. It felt like he had slept for six minutes, not six hours.

His head was resting on something hard, which was odd since he hadn't brought anything down with him. He sighed deeply, already knowing what it could have been. He laid there, stewing in his depressed feelings until he finally got the urge to pick himself up. He calmly took up the Book of the World and trailed up the stairs.

In his living room he set the book down on the table. It immediately opened its pages for him:

It's a good thing you have very kind friends. It would've been a rougher night without them.

Flippy's frown deepened. The book flipped to the next page.

It's my liability to suggest it didn't have to be that way. Wanna know why? It's all because you were a bit too curious for your own good.

Flippy was briefly taken aback. He glared. "What?!"

You were never supposed to find me.

And…admittedly, I was never supposed to be so attention-starved. And so here we are, right?

But I don't belong here. You've already seen what secrets I hold. Just two, out of so many more. Do you really want to keep something such as myself around, or do you want to put me back where you found me and forget about the entire thing?

Do you want to keep me and have more terrible things weighing on your conscience? Things you can't quite understand?

Flippy felt as though it was trying to confuse him or maybe redirect his attention. He grimly shook his head.

Let me guess…that no means you won't put me back?

"Mhm."

The book ruffled its pages, like it was sighing.

I should've known you'd want things the hard way. Then again, you want answers, I'm assuming?

"Yes."

Not gonna get 'em from me. It's not my place.

But fine. I'll let you in on something. All it ever takes is for one small or innocent thing to go wrong and you've got more chaos than you can fathom. It depends on what's been written.

Would you believe me if I said that what you've seen in these pages has actually happened?

"Stop," Flippy said sternly.

I won't, or else I'd be stiffing you. I'm trying to help you understand.

Sometimes it's good to be oblivious or not understand something.

When you see the truth for as it is, you can't help but to remember what you've forgotten! That is the strength of the written word. And every new word has the potential to make the past irrelevant.

Do you really want to see what I mean? Do you really want the truth for what it is?

There's no going back from this if you do.

Flippy hesitated. When he picked up the book, it went silent. That already made him nervous, and then it flipped to the next page. His stomach dropped at the glistening, bold message that oozed ink as if it were blood:

I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE.

DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GO FORWARD ON THIS?

Flippy gulped and closed his eyes tight. He gave the shortest, stiffest nod he could manage.

The book fluttered in a rush of wind and a light emanated from its pages, starting the first of the many terrible, terrible truths he could ever hope to know.

The Book of the World was an odd paradox. It was a physical object that could be held and interacted with, but its capabilities were on an entirely different level of comprehension. It was more than a paranormal or mystical object. It knew things that had happened, but also was the curator of those things.

Flippy was shown and reminded of things he'd done before. It was shocking at how swiftly the book drew out past occurrences in the blink of an eye. It wasn't creating false memories within him, because he could feel his own mind straining and wavering under the pressure of things he never even knew he'd forgotten.

He then learned that the Book of the World had been hidden away for a simple reason. It was the perfect record keeper. Flippy had no idea who or what could have been strong enough to make the object he held in his hands for hours on end. He knew it had an author. He began to feel the dread of what would happen if its creator found that the book wasn't where it had been left…

The fear for his own wellbeing was a drop in the ocean. He felt emotions at a magnitude and depth that was impossible to put into words. Disbelief, guilt, and shame formed a massive, aching canopy over his heart.

Now, he at least knew why he had those moments where he blacked out. It was because he'd lost his mind and sense. It did crush him to know the truth. He had to see himself victimizing his friends in all sorts of ways with a wide grin and murderous joy in his eyes.

Flippy saw he'd had some sort of realization before and tried therapy. Then he'd gotten…well, killed.

When a life was lost, it was re-written. He'd died plenty of other times too, not that he hadn't recalled up until this point. Even waking up after 'dying' before, it'd felt like the start of a new day for him with no awareness of what had come before. It wasn't every day, but enough of them. To him, it looked as though his life and the lives of others were at the whim of someone too powerful to comprehend.

He regretted not putting the book back where he had found it.

Flippy sat in his armchair, gazing out the living room window.

His brain had been over stimulated and stalled, basically. He was in a trance. His emotions were dull and static. The hours peeled by and he barely noticed the difference between night and day.

He watched the stars appear in the night sky, twinkling brightly for what seemed like mere seconds until they began to disappear. It was only when the sun rose for another time that Flippy twitched, dimly realizing that he needed to get up. He truly had no idea how many days he'd sat there.

Once up to his feet he took two steps, just enough to look at the carpet underneath his end table. Underneath it was the only gun he had dared to own since being honorably discharged. It only had one bullet in the chamber. The aftereffects of his deployment made him buy it out of impulse, but even on his worst days he never thought more than once about it.

He began to wonder what to do. Someone was cruel and sadistic enough to control the actions and lives of himself and his friends. Someone had the power to direct their every move and step, ultimately bringing them back to life just to cause them more terror. It was a vicious cycle.

Flippy slowly took his eyes away from the carpet. He wanted his friends to be safe. That was all he cared about. But even if he felt like using the revolver, he was positive that he'd just wake up another day, oblivious all over again. Even now, he wasn't sure if he wanted that kind of blissful ignorance again.

He stood in the middle of the living room, unmoving, daydreaming for an hour more. His eyes slid back over to the window. The morning was still young and he wondered how long the peace would last.

Flippy inhaled steadily, then sighed. The Book of the World was back on his coffee table. He noticed its pages were drooping and limp, almost like it was sorry. He had no expression as he stared down at it.

You know, this isn't easy for me, it said. I'm not supposed to make this so obvious, but if you want to bear the risk…just know that as long as you keep me, those who try to author your lives won't be able to do so anymore.

Flippy's eye began twitching violently; something in him erupted and he seized the book, throttling it. It wrenched itself free, knocking him across the head.

Easy! I'm not lying! You already saw what's happened! It's recorded! Someone had to have written it down, write?

"That's a homonym," Flippy said coolly.

Whatever! Unlike you, I haven't gotten my degree!

LISTEN—I cannot alter reality on my own! If you want your friends to be safe, all you have to do is make sure you watch over me.

The bear clenched his teeth, narrowing his eyes.

Come on! I've been straightforward this entire time. Why would I lie about this if it's to your benefit?

Just know I have more than one keeper. None of them were around. You saw earlier, when you fell into their office. They're going to come back and freak like madmen (and a madlady) when they notice I'm not there, and…

Flippy grimaced. If there was ever a risk he didn't want…

"Fine," he said shortly. "I believe you."

Then…then what are you gonna do? At this point you're playing with fire no matter what you choose!

Well, Flippy chose the most obvious thing—what he wanted. And he wanted his friends to live safe and happy lives.

He took the Book of the World into his office and put it in the desk drawer, well out of sight. He was tense, angry, and riled up. He needed to wear himself down before his emotions boiled over. He didn't want to flip out, after all.

Flippy took the steps up to his attic, where he kept his weight lifting set ready for use. He pulled out an old-fashioned boom box over, checking to make sure the CD was inside. He hit play.

"The rain, the shine...a tale, older than time..."

With a grunt of exertion the bear picked up his chosen weights—two fifty pounders—and fixed them to the bar.

"What is raged, what is lost. War has raged, for all cost..."

Flippy slid onto the weightlifting bench. He removed his fatigues and beret, but kept his dog tags on.

"One can stay, one can fend. One can pray, one can tend..."

He laid back, gathering his focus and strength, and gripped the bar tightly.

"The rain, the shine..."

Flippy huffed a few times in preparation, then bared his teeth as he began his set. Just after the fourth rep, a glistening trickle ran from the corner of his eye.

"The tale, older than time..."

An hour later…

Flippy stepped out of his bathroom with a rush of steam, whoofing in relief. A particularly minty scent clung to his fur. He was feeling a lot better.

Soon afterwards he was shrugging his jacket on as he strolled towards the kitchen, preoccupied about what to feed his growling stomach. Flippy passed his office, absentmindedly glanced in, and kept walking.

Three steps later he seized sharply, baring his teeth in horror. He reversed, crashing into the doorframe with a shallow gasp.

His office had been ransacked. It looked more like a landfill with how his personal documents, books, and supplies were carelessly strewn about. The floor wasn't even visible. His desk was the only thing that seemed untouched.

Flippy bolted straight for it and flung the drawer open. If he'd had a bad heart, now would've been the time for a widowmaker. The Book of the World was gone.

"No," Flippy uttered shallowly. He searched the other drawers and cabinets to see if he'd just forgotten where he'd put it, but they had already been emptied. That was when the panic tripled.

"No, no, NO!"

The window behind his desk was unbroken and locked. A little earlier he'd seen that the furniture barricade at the front door was still undisturbed.

Then he heard, clear as day:

"Eh heh heh heh!"

Flippy almost fell from how fast he spun around. He hadn't been expecting any company today.