Chapter 13: Bright, Blessed Days

Flippy sat up, confused and bleary. He already had a bad feeling about whatever happened before he'd woken up. Also, judging by the terrible wallpaper and the fact he was lying in a claw-foot tub, he wasn't in his bathroom.

Something quivered against his lower back. He shifted and clumsily pulled The Book of the World around.

Good morning. I bet you feel pretty terrible, huh? No no, no no, it chided, when he opened his mouth to speak. Just hold on. Good news or bad news first?

"…bad," Flippy sighed.

Well, you had another episode last night. Yeah, that sucked. But the good news was that you didn't kill anyone.

Speaking on which, Lumpy's good. I'm pretty sure you were supposed to be the one to murder him yesterday, but things worked out differently. Weird, huh?

All of your friends survived! You should be proud. Anyway, want to hear the bad news?

Flippy stopped scratching behind his ear. Was he reading things right?

Sorry, there was bad, then good, then more bad news. Hate to be the bearer of it.

Thing is, Lumpy's been house-sitting for you. You know how his solutions to problems aren't, uh…typical.

Flippy drug his aching body from the bathroom, preparing to go through every stage of grief. At first he wasn't paying attention; he obliviously went through a large opening in the moose's trailer and then found himself in his own garage.

"Wait..."

Lumpy had moved his trailer. He'd mowed over the fence and rammed it into Flippy's house.

Lumpy hummed to himself as he busied himself over Flippy's stove. He felt a tap on the knee and looked down. "Oh ho, hi!" he greeted, patting the irritable bear on the head. "How are you?"

Flippy tried getting Lumpy to address the whole mobile home through the garage bit, and also why the holes in his wall and ceiling were filled in with cement. But it was like he was fussing at a brick wall.

A pan caught fire. As Lumpy turned his focus to it, the Book of the World slipped free. Look at his head!

Lumpy was wearing a feathered fedora. The feather was…Flippy gasped. It was the Writer's Quill! He pounced on Lumpy's back, knocking him down onto the floor.

After a quick tussle Lumpy stood up, holding Flippy by the collar. "No play time, mister," the moose said sternly. "You need more rest."

Since Lumpy wasn't particularly cognizant, he never noticed that at some point the bear in his hands was replaced by a book.

Flippy snuck ahead, lying in wait as he clung to the hall ceiling. As Lumpy passed below to head into the garage, Flippy swiped the hat off the moose's head. He dropped to the floor, whistling. The Book slipped away from Lumpy, who went on without a clue in the world.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Flippy exclaimed, running for his office. The Book clamped shut on his ear and drug him into the bedroom, snapping, No, no, NO! What do you think you're doing?!

With an elated cheer Flippy held up the quill. The Book trembled and slammed the door shut before throwing itself on the bed.

Come on, it said, spreading its pages. I'm ready for you.

"Huh?"

The QUILL, genius. Use it on me.

Flippy wondered why they couldn't have gone into his office. The Book didn't answer for several long moments, making him feel like he'd asked a dumb question.

We have more privacy in here, it finally answered.

Flippy thought it had a point. He really didn't want Lumpy barging in on them. He went ahead and locked the door, then hopped on the bed.

I know it's your first time, so if you can't get into the mood just let me know NOW. The Book ordered. We can try again later if you need to.

Flippy shook his head. There wasn't any time to waste.

Alright. It's simple. Just focus on the thing you'd like to change. Keep things as objective as possible.

Flippy put the tip of the quill to the page, and after a moment's hesitation, wrote:

I wish I could erase my PTSD.

He leaned in close for a few moments, curious. Would he be able to feel the change as it happened? What would it feel like?

The words on the page shriveled, making little audible cracking noises as they disintegrated. Flippy was left staring at a blank page again. The Book began expressing his thoughts: Wait, what the hell was—

The both of them jolted into the air, suddenly wracked by some unseen, terribly electrifying force that made Flippy's teeth rattle hard in his skull. He dropped to the bed, now lightly singed and twitching.

"I-It didn't w-work?" he groaned.

What do you think, champ? Man, that hurt! The Book said, hovering up and shaking itself. Seriously! Somehow that hurt more than when you were trying to pull me apart. Well, that technically wasn't you, but…

"When I did what?"

Nothing.

Flippy waited for some answer as to what just happened. The Book didn't seem to be sure. It hovered around for a moment, twitching like it was trying to shake off the feeling of being shocked. It perked.

…ah, damn it. Well… it began, I only have one explanation. It's the only thing I can think of, and I don't think you'll like what I have to say.

It's the right quill. We both did everything right. The words were there.

But maybe…I think something called a Continuity Block happened, The Book explained. I've only heard Stan mention it a handful of times. It always sounded like…whenever they were writing, they made it to where some things were permanent and couldn't be changed.

"What?!"

Yeah…sometimes those Bookworms would sometimes warn each other not to 'break continuity'. And I don't recall myself or any of them getting shocked like that in the past.

I don't even know what kind of force this 'Continuity Block' is, but it obviously works.

So…yeah. If I'm right, there's nothing we can do. Somehow…there's something preventing you from writing your PTSD out of existence, and not even I can overcome it.

Flippy dropped his head in his hands, trying to massage his headache away. He wanted to cry.

I'm sorry. That's all I can say, the Book said. It's literally out of my control or capabilities. I must not be as strong as I thought.

By now, Lumpy must have come back. An explosion came from the kitchen, which didn't make Flippy's headache better.

Oh, geez, the Book said. Okay, come on. Let's try to focus and move on. I know there's other things we can change. Your friends. Who's first?

After a moment, with a heavy sigh, Flippy picked up the quill. He'd just go in order.

Toothy needs a new tail, he thought, keeping it to the forefront of his mind as he penned the words down. He cringed a little, half-expecting to get zapped again. This time the ink on the page remained silent as it seamlessly faded away.

If you want fast service, you got it! The Book said. It's done!

Flippy was surprised. Already? Had the beaver been in the middle of eating breakfast, then poof—new tail?

I gotta say, there's a lot of subtly involved when things are changed. I guess it's kinda similar to time traveling? No, wait. Forget that.

Basically, some changes are big or influential enough that memory alteration is a side effect, the Book said. Wouldn't you say losing a limb is a big occasion? Toothy has it back, but now he doesn't recall ever losing it. He still has memories of yesterday, just…now, he recalls you saving him in one piece.

It can also create a ripple effect. Anyone who saw Toothy without a tail yesterday will also have their memories altered. Rearranged, in some extreme cases, to where the reality they initially saw doesn't exist in their minds anymore. They never knew it happened because it no longer has happened, in a sense. It's just like when all of you adorable little animals come back to life without recalling certain things that'd happened before.

And if it weren't for me, none of you would ever even realize your memories had been altered in the first place.

So yes, in a way, this means that false memories are implemented in an individual's mind after certain things are changed. It can be complex and confusing if you're not thinking of the bigger perspective; the best rewrites focus on necessary and/or minor tweaks in the body of the overall narrative.

And it has to be done, or else animals would lose their minds. Wouldn't you think forgetting every death you had is a mercy?

But oh—you, since you're the one writing things down, you're impervious to having your memories altered. You'll remember how things were before you changed them, even after you changed them.

Flippy's head was smoking. It was all making more sense now, but…he had discomfort in his stomach. The more he understood, the more he disliked it. He wanted the best for his friends, but couldn't help feeling like he had to brainwash them in the process.

Gives you the ick, doesn't it? Well, it's just something you'll have to get used to. You know what they say about great power and great responsibility. And there's no loopholes, The Book said. If you have questions, keep 'em in reserve in case you meet the person who created me. That A. Human guy. I've never met him myself. Typical dad, right?

Flippy knew he had to focus on the benefits. He steeled his mind and got to work. After they were done, he'd go out and see the results with his own eyes.

It had long been quiet by the time Flippy slipped out of the bedroom. Of course, by then he'd written for Lumpy to be back in his own yard.

He'd also fixed his own house, and it had worked! Every single room was spotless with not a single thing out of place or missing. More importantly the holes that The Mole, Splendid, and Lumpy had made were repaired like they'd never been there.

Even though he fully expected it, just to see the difference was wondrous and magical. The smile on Flippy's face grew as he walked around, beholding the changes the Book made.

But he was far more eager to see the state of everyone else. He took in a deep breath, steadying himself before he left his house.

The sunshine was graciously, vibrantly bright. Flippy squinted around, searching for anyone that he knew. He decided to head downtown and was walking for awhile when he heard honking.

A four-wheeler swung around the corner. Cuddles was behind the wheel, fully healed, without a single bruise or broken bone. Toothy was hanging onto the back of the vehicle, hooting for an increase in speed—as they blazed by, Flippy could see the beaver did indeed have his tail back.

"Wow," he uttered, putting a hand over his heart. He kept going until he spied a blue blur sprinting across the road in the distance. That was Petunia coming from the grocery store. He wasn't sure what she was in a rush for, but she was headed in the direction of her newly repaired house, so he could make the best assumptions.

He eventually passed Handy working at the auto shop. The beaver was on a rolling board, working on the undercarriage of a truck. Flippy leaned his head down, puzzled. Somehow Handy got things done—but maybe he'd appreciate having hands?

Flippy slipped into a phone booth. He pulled the Book out and bolted down the magic words.

Handy can get his hands back!

Excited, he hunched over the book…then the words shriveled and disintegrated.

Out of instinct he tried to run, but ended up slamming into the wrong side of the booth. The lightning-hot pain struck him and he convulsed against the glass, splaying in three different unique positions before toppling backwards onto the sidewalk.

Flippy groaned, lolling his head to the side. He couldn't give the amputee his missing limbs back?

Now that he thought, every time Handy came back to life he didn't have his hands. It had to have been another Continuity Block!

Seething, Flippy pushed himself up. He grunted when a car zoomed by, going fifty over the speed limit. It really hadn't been good foresight to give The Mole a fully repaired car.

Wait…!

"Hmm…" Flippy pondered, with reasonable caution. Now, he had the same gut feeling that he couldn't make The Mole unblind, undeaf, and…well, the guy had a lot of things going on. Flippy tried anyway.

He didn't even realize he got shocked into unconsciousness until he woke up on his back a few minutes later. He drug himself to the nearest bench and collapsed onto it.

Alright fuzzy, so we can assume if someone has recurrent mental or physical issues then those things can't be written away. The Book said, now reasonably grouchy. Just assume, 'cause even without nerve endings I can feel pain just as well as you do.

I know you want to fix some of the really messed up stuff, but it'll be like trying to pick a rose layered in thorns! It's frustrating, but you can't change the foundation of individuals.

...that didn't sound ableist, did it?

Flippy growled, filled head to toe with rage.

While in active duty, he'd learned how to make people disappear. It was one of the numerous trade secrets he usually kept in the farthest, darkest part of his mind.

But if he ever encountered that A. Human fellow? Flippy couldn't say what he wouldn't do to him.